


Fur a Good Time, Call...

by popatochisp



Series: ~Soft Horrortale~ [1]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Affection, Alternate Universe - Horrortale (Undertale), Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Animals, Bad Puns, Bara Sans (Undertale), Caretaking, Cats, Couch Cuddles, Day At The Beach, Dissociation, Dogs, F/M, Family, Fashion & Couture, First Dates, First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Gratuitous Skeleton Nuzzles, Growth, Happy Ending, Healing, Hilarious Younger Brother Papyrus, Horrortale Sans (Undertale), Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Laughter, M/M, Movie Dates, Multi, NO DEATH, Nervousness, Off-screen animal mistreatment, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Panic Attacks, Park Dates, Queen Undyne Route, Reader Is Not Frisk (Undertale), Reader-Insert, Recovery, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Slow Burn, Texting, Therapy Positive, Time Skips, Undertale Neutral Route, eventually, everything is good and nothing hurts, more or less, no violence, shipper Papyrus, the tags just got dark but i promise nothing is graphic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-03
Updated: 2018-12-17
Packaged: 2019-07-06 07:23:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 100,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15881328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/popatochisp/pseuds/popatochisp
Summary: You work at an animal shelter. You love all your fuzzy buddies and can't imagine a better job for yourself than looking after cats and dogs all day, even when the work is hard and often gross. What can you say? You've got a lot of love to give!You're just not quite sure yet how you feel about the new monster who's been helping out these days, and this riddle wrapped up in an enigma is something you just can't resist investigating...





	1. Prologue - Curiosity

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Bones, Picked Clean](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11692404) by [lulu-writes (luluwrites)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/luluwrites/pseuds/lulu-writes). 



> TW: animal cruelty, entirely off-screen and non-graphic, see end notes for details.

You weren’t quite sure what to make of the new guy.

When your boss had bullied you into using some of your vacation days, you hadn’t been thrilled. You’d protested, actually—you didn’t have anywhere you wanted to go and no social life to speak of, and the animals _needed_ you!

There was always so much to be done at the shelter and you prided yourself as one of their most dedicated full-timers. If there was a dog needing a walk or a cat screaming for some dinner, you were right there with a smile (and some silly baby-talk), ready to take care of it.

Pets were your passion and nothing made you happier than to help out the ones that hadn’t found their forever-homes just yet.

But…maybe you _were_ working a bit too hard. As the shelter manager was quick to point out, you were going on three years without a full day off and no matter how much you loved the work, burnout was a thing that happened to people and _not_ something she wanted to happen to her best worker.

Flattery: your Achilles’ heel.

She insisted on a break, no less than a week, and since you were so worried about the animals, she’d even try to get a couple extra volunteers to keep things covered while you were out.

You caved in and had a frustratingly great week at home doing absolutely nothing and then went back to work where the same amount of nothing had caught fire in your absence.

Everything was totally fine, great even, thanks to the irreproachable work of the newest volunteer your manager had dug up.

“hey. where’d you want these again?”

You turned, jumping just a little when you came face to sternum with the man himself. He was staring down at you from his considerable height, his single brick-red eye large and glowing as he waited for your answer… probably about the three pallets of kibble he had slung over his shoulder.

“Oh! You can just put those over by the dog room, I’ll take it from there.” You smiled at him, hoping you looked friendly. “Thanks for getting them, I can never reach without the step-ladder!”

He just shrugged. “s’cool. i got it.”

And then he was off, moving far quieter than you thought a skeleton of his massive size should be able to.

Then again, it’s not like you knew many skeletons: it was just Sans.

Monsters had come up to the surface only a year ago: creatures of magic emerging from the depths of the earth like out of a fantasy novel, but all too real. Humanity was collectively horrified and demanded an immediate response to their arrival, governments from all over the world snapping into action faster than any bureaucracy had moved in centuries.

And you were so proud of your dumb species for the first time in a _long_ time.

The appalling conditions of the Underground and the hunched and broken bodies of the monsters who emerged from it had triggered a visceral, emotional response in nearly everyone who saw them. In an outpouring of pity and compassion, monsters were quickly granted legal rights, facilitated access to very necessary health care both physical and psychological, and even regular stipends from relief fund donations to help them establish stable lives.

It was true humanitarianism at its finest, people banding together to right a terrible wrong and it warmed your heart to see it happen. There were dissenters, of course, bigots here and there who thought monsters were evil and should’ve died Underground, especially after…what was done to the humans who had fallen down there….

But Queen Undyne, the monster monarch had taken full responsibility for all of those deaths already. Even now, she was serving out her prison sentence for it so it wasn’t as if justice wasn’t being done just because her people weren’t locked up with her.

You may not have known all the details but you didn’t think you needed to and your opinion was one shared by the majority: humans put them down there and humans should make it better. Monsters were owed at least that much.

Even in spite of the government money they were receiving, the grateful monsters who were physically able seemed quite happy to return the kindness given to them, entering the human workforce wherever they could and giving back as productive members of their new society.

That was the category that seemed to best fit Sans.

When you’d first come back to work, he’d been… a little bit of a shock, to say the least. Going to say hi to all the cats you hadn’t seen in days and finding a towering and frankly terrifying death-omen standing silently amongst them had actually really rattled you.

You had frozen, just a little, transfixed by his blazing eye-light and the jagged, gaping hole in his skull that looked positively _grisly._

It wasn’t until your manager came in behind you, introducing him to you as the new volunteer that you noticed that the ‘death-omen’ was wearing a fuzzy hoodie and a frankly adorable pair of novelty skull slippers and you realized how rude you’d been.

Things had gotten busy, as they always did—litter boxes to scrub, animals to socialize, families to interview—and you kind of lost track of him, but you did ask around.

“Sans? Nice guy, a little bit of a scatterbrain maybe, but I’ve seen worse,” was the endorsement from a long-time coworker of yours. “I’ve never had to show him something more than twice, so y’know, he’s already better than Michael, god, remember Michael?”

“He kinda creeps me out,” another volunteer told you, “but the animals love him. One time, I saw him carrying around that big Rottweiler in one arm like it was a baby or something and she was totally cool with it.”

“He’s been great so far,” your manager had promised. “I think you two will work really well together.”

Oh, yeah, sure. If he didn’t think you were a total monsterphobic jerk by now.

You’d spent basically every day since you’d been back, in between actual work, trying to talk to Sans. Not to apologize for freezing like a scared deer, the window for that was probably _way_ past, but… you could be better going forward, right? If you were actually nice and showed some manners better than a wild boar’s, you could be friends…right?

Wrong. _So_ wrong.

You discovered quickly that Sans was as much of an enigma as he was deceptively scary. He rarely spoke and when he did, it was quiet and to the point; never anything about himself.

It actually hurt your feelings a little bit at first until you learned that it didn’t seem to be personal. _Nobody_ at the shelter seemed to know anything about Sans: even the big boss maxed out at knowing he just showed up one day asking to be put to work.

If anything, though, learning that just made you all the more determined to befriend him.

Sans was a mystery and the less you realized you knew about him, the more driven you felt to figure him out. Who _is_ this skeleton in comfy clothes who comes in most days and works hard for no money and barely says a word to anyone? You wanted to find out, even as it was proving just as hard as herding cats.

Harder, probably. The cats usually pay pretty good attention if you’re holding something jingly.

But you were getting way too in your own head and there was work to be done, lest you’d made Sans lug all that kibble from the stock room for nothing.

A deafening barrage of barks and whines greeted you from the second you opened the door to the dog room and it brought a smile to your face.

“Oh my god, I know,” you laughed, “I know, I’ve been gone for like an _hour,_ I could’ve been dead!”

Princess, a pit bull mutt and the biggest, whiniest baby you’ve ever seen in your life, certainly seemed to think so. She was the closest to the door and whimpering at you with her paws up against the chain-link of her enclosure, wiggling so hard it rattled.

“Alright, jeez, I’m here now, aren’t I?” She looked right at you and let out a long, low whine that sounded so pathetic you had to laugh again. “You want lunch first? Will that take the sting out of my betrayal?”

A loud bark was your answer from Princess, and from every other dog in the room. They didn’t know a whole lot of human words but anything food-related got picked up _real_ damn quick.

“Okay, shush, then, I’m on it, you all know the drill.”

You headed over to the big bags of kibble propped up against the door jamb, right where Sans had left them, and got to work.

It used to be that you felt a little silly talking to the animals as if they could understand you, even when you and them were the only ones in the room, but those days were long behind you. They understood your tone of voice at least, so you were happy to chat with (or at) your furry wards about whatever popped into your head while you doled out their food.

It was a step up from talking to yourself… which you’d definitely also done. You hadn’t been exaggerating that ‘no social life’ thing, but it’s not like you’d ever felt lonely.

“Well, maybe not _never,_ ” you muttered, nudging an eager little bulldog back with your foot to edge into his room and set down one of the bowls you were holding. “But not like…seriously. I see everybody here all the time, plus adopters, and the cats, and you guys. That’s plenty, right?”

You looked down to realize you were being pointedly ignored, a little doggy face planted firmly in his food. “Yeah, you’re plenty. Good talk, Smoochie.”

If you weren’t already _pretty_ sure you were going to end up as a crazy animal person, this might’ve been the moment it hit you.

You didn’t really have time to dwell on that, though, not with the downright _chilling_ screams that suddenly erupted from outside.

Automatically, you found yourself headed for the noise, goosebumps prickling up on your skin from the awful quality of the sound. You just barely remembered to fasten the latch of the cage one-handedly behind you before walking, jogging, running towards the lobby where it seemed to be coming from and _what_ were you going into that it could be heard from so far away in the building?!

There was a loud clatter and even more screaming and when you finally made it through the door, you skidded to a halt.

And your heart broke.

The horrible, discordant screaming sound was coming from a _dog._ The poor thing was skinny, shaking, fur so matted and dingy that it couldn’t even see through it, every worst nightmare you’d ever had from those Sarah McLachlan commercials come to life. It looked like it had knocked over some chairs trying to scrunch itself into a corner and was cowering in a puddle of its own pee. And _screeching_ every time it heard a noise.

You didn’t often see ones this bad, but it didn’t hurt any less when you did.

“Oh, baby, no,” you whispered. “What happened?”

You hadn’t been talking to anyone in particular so it startled you when you got an answer.

“H-he slipped his lead,” you heard and turned to see one of the new volunteers standing beside you, wide-eyed and holding a useless green rope in her hands. “I don’t know… I was just… What do we do?”

Glancing around, you suddenly realized that you were the most senior person in the room. Even with the trickle of onlookers drawn by the noise everybody else was just hesitating at the edges of the lobby, nervous and unsure while the poor animal wailed and shook in front of them.

Right, then. Up to you.

“Go get the vet,” you told the volunteer and took a step forward, reaching out to take the lead from her fingers…

…only to watch a much bigger, paler hand close over the rope instead of your own.

Sans took it, silently ghosting his broad body between you and the girl and heading straight for the dog.

Your jaw nearly dropped. A million thoughts raced through your head at once—where did he come from? What is he doing? Shouldn’t you stop him? He barely has any experience, he’s not even staff!— but when you tried to say something, your throat was too tight and all that came out was…

“Be careful…!”

Sans didn’t even turn. “it’s fine,” he said, just as soft-spoken as he ever was. “s’just a little spooked, that’s all.”

You watched with bated breath as he knelt down, right in front of the scruffy animal. It prompted a fresh bout of screaming that made you flinch, but Sans acted like he didn’t even hear it.

“heya, bud. there’s no need for all’a that, is there?” The dog’s mismatched ears flicked once, but immediately flattened back against his head. Sans kept talking. “it’s good here. we’ll take care of ya. it won’t be like wherever ya came from. nobody here’s gonna hurt’cha.”

It was the most you’d ever heard him say at once and the deep, sonorous quality of his voice was a surprise to you. His tone was slow and even, almost lulling; it was putting _you_ at ease, so to see the poor dog responding the same way, his hackles lowering ever so slightly and his shriek dying into a pitiful little cry shouldn’t have been so shocking.

You were amazed, anyway.

“that’s it, bud. there ya go.” Sans raised the rope, moving it carefully to the dog’s head.

Once he was leashed, it should be a little easier to coax him to the vet’s exam room. He’d get checked out, bathed, shaved, fed, and settled into his own little kennel.

Thank god you were under capacity right now, you’d really lose sleep if you had to turn this one away. As long as he was here, you could help him.

But there you went, getting ahead of yourself again.

The dog panicked at the very last second. He lunged forward, snapping his jaws shut on the closest target—Sans.

Your gasp was loud in the tension-quieted room, chorused by others and even a muffled yelp from the receptionist, everyone alarmed by the sight of Sans’ blue hoodie caught in a semi-feral dog’s muzzle.

You had already taken several steps forward—to do what, you had no idea—when Sans just cinched the rope into a proper lead around the dog’s neck with a triumphant, “gotcha,” as if he hadn’t just had a sharp set of teeth _successfully_ come at him.

You were speechless for several long seconds. Had he…not noticed? Did the dog just graze him? Was he even bleeding? If he was, you’d want to drive him to the hospital just in case, you never knew what a strange dog could be carrying and even if it was shallow, the stomach seemed like a terrible place to get bitten…

And then, the obvious hit you.

The dog had lunged at Sans’ abdomen. The abdomen he didn’t _have._ Because he was a _skeleton._

_Oh, god, **duh.**_

Of course Sans was fine, that bite had never come anywhere near him. You wanted to physically facepalm, just a little bit, at your own apparent stupidity but that would hardly be helpful right now.

You managed to take some slight pleasure in knowing you weren’t the only dumb human in the room that’d had the same thought and then tried to forget it. “You okay, Sans?”

“yeah, we’re fine,” he answered easily. The dog may have disagreed, having unlatched himself from Sans’ hoodie and, when that last defensive bid had so totally failed, resigned himself to making heart-wrenching crying noises and continuing to cower. “he’s not happy, but i got ‘im.”

There were sighs of relief all around. You scanned the room, seeing the tension fade and normal activity start to hesitantly resume—and the volunteer girl still standing by the door.

“What are you still…? I said to go get the vet!” you reminded her, maybe a little more sharply than you intended because she squeaked and scurried off.

You immediately felt a little bad about it. Seeing an animal in such bad shape for the first time wasn’t easy and not all newbies had the kind of brass ones Sans did.

Sans, who suddenly turned to look right at you and said your name.

“I…. Me?” You wanted to kick yourself for saying that. There was only one you at the whole damn shelter, but Sans didn’t seem to care.

“yeah, c’mere. he’ll probably chill out a little if he’s got some food, right?”

You were already moving forward again before you fully realized what he meant—the shiny metal bowl of kibble in your hand that you’d apparently run all the way here holding, stars, what had _that_ looked like? But if you were accidentally prepared, you probably shouldn’t criticize yourself too hard.

You knelt down next to Sans, moving carefully but the skittish animal still yelped and scrabbled when he heard you coming. There was a blur of blue and suddenly Sans’ arm was between you and the dog.

“it’s okay, pal,” he soothed. “you’re fine, stay cool, just friends here. you want some food, don’tcha?”

That was your cue. You placed the bowl on the floor and gently slid it over to the dog before pulling your hand back.

The dog whined again, upset and unsure. You couldn’t quite see with Sans’ arm in the way and straightened up to look over it, bracing just one hand against his humerus. The dog was blinded by his own matted fur but he could clearly smell the kibble and his nose found its way to the bowl, sniffing cautiously with his tail tucked between his legs.

You slumped in relief when he took the first hesitant bite, and the ravenous second, third, fourth.

_Thank god._

Sans seemed just as pleased, lowering his protective arm and looping the lead around his other hand, shortened for better control. He said your name again and you turned; even kneeling, you still had to look up.

“you should pet him,” he said. “i don’t think he’ll bite again.”

Glancing at the dog, you agreed, but also… “Why me?”

His one red eye met yours, gleaming with earnest sincerity. “you’re good at dogs,” he said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Grass is green. Water makes stuff wet. You’re good at dogs.

Feeling unaccountably flattered, you reached out and carefully stroked your fingers along the dog’s back. He flinched at the touch but didn’t stop eating or try to bite again, so you had high hopes for his adoption chances later on.

You kept petting him, crouched on the floor of the shelter lobby next to a gentle giant of a skeleton and watched the dog finish the whole bowl.

“That’s a good boy,” you cooed. “You’re gonna do just fine.”

It felt like you were there for a long time, but eventually you heard footsteps and finally, the vet arrived. He was flanked by a couple of other staff members, bigger guys who you knew had experience with nervous and aggressive dogs.

Sans stood, and you with him, and you watched as he gingerly handed over the leash to one of them and let them coax the dog forward. The vet was already looking him over even as they got the little guy moving and you were relieved not to hear him point out anything that sounded too serious.

Soon they had all filed out to take care of business and it was just you and Sans left there in the lobby. Even the receptionist had fled for a coffee/need-a-breather- _right-now_ break and you didn’t blame her.

“So that was…intense.”

“yeah.”

You turned more fully towards Sans and tried to catch his gaze. “You’re okay, right?” you asked. “Like…really okay?”

He looked at you like you’d said something bizarre. “said i was, didn’t i?”

“Well, people say a lot of things, and that was…a lot, even for somebody who actually gets paid for it. You’re good?”

Sans didn’t look any less bemused. “…yeah.”

He didn’t say anything else for several long moments. His single glowing pupil was cast down away from your face and when you followed it, you saw…

Oh jeez, your hand on his arm, still.

You pulled back immediately, feeling yourself go red and hoping he didn’t notice. “Sorry!” you definitely didn’t squeak. “Sorry, that was…. Oh, no, your hoodie…”

Sans looked down and quickly spotted what you just had— three sizeable holes torn into the bottom of his sweatshirt, right at the hem of the pocket. He picked at it, poking two thick, bony fingers straight through. “huh.”

“He got you pretty good.” You winced a little at the damp tear in the fabric: it was a jagged rip and pretty frayed. “I’m not sure that’s gonna be salvageable. Sorry.”

By the expressions Sans kept fixing on you, you’d have guessed you were the most confusing human on the planet. “what for?”

“The holes? That’s your favorite jacket, isn’t it?” You hesitated, realizing you didn’t actually _know_ that. “Or at least, you wear it all the time. I kinda guessed you just loved that thing.”

“i do. but it’s just a thing. shit happens, y’know.” He shrugged. “’sides, not like anybody got hurt, right?”

“…Right.” Of course. That really _was_ the most important thing.

That, and cleaning up the mess your new little friend had made of the lobby.

You sighed just looking at it but it wasn’t about to fix itself so you dove right in, picking up chairs and moving them to the side while you skirted around the puddle on the floor as best as you could.

“……can i help?”

The gentle inquiry from Sans made you pause. The man got literally snapped at not fifteen minutes ago, at a place where they worked him like a…well, like a dog without even having him on the payroll, and he _still_ wanted to help?

Sans really _was_ something else.

“You could get the mop and bucket for me from the supply closet,” you said lightly, pointedly not making it an order. “And maybe finish feeding the dogs for me? I hadn’t even gotten halfway through when all of this mess happened, I’m sure they’re not too happy about that.”

“yeah, sure.” But Sans seemed just a little nervous all of a sudden, his permanent grin looking more like a grimace while his eye-light darted quickly to one side. “uhhh…which dogs did you already…?”

You smiled. “It was Tina’s turn, but I didn’t pick anything back up. Any cage that doesn’t have a food bowl in it needs one.”

The skeleton’s shoulders slumped in relief. “okay, cool.” That was an easy way to remember what needed doing. He probably wouldn’t have to come back and ask you again like he did some other times. “i’m on it.”

You opened your mouth to thank him, but between one blink and the next he was gone.

Literally. Not even a motion-blur, just gone. You turned to the reception desk to see if anybody else had just seen that, but of course it was still just you there—you and the mop and bucket that had just appeared where Sans had been standing when you’d looked away for no more than two seconds.

“Well,” you announced to no one. “That’s new.”

No one was very appreciative of your dry and pithy wit, you were quite sure.

You grabbed the mop and got to work on the glamorous task of wiping up urine, just one of the many hidden perks of your job—that you really did love, warts and all.

You _really_ weren’t sure what to make of the new guy, but after today you were damn well going to figure it out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: A dog is brought into the shelter and it's neglected and very afraid. It's ultimately unhurt and nothing bad happens to it.
> 
> Well, here we go, my first fanfiction in three years and my very first reader-insert ever, this should be fun!
> 
> My entire motivation for writing this story is being very interested in the Horrortale AU, but just wanting to see what it could look like a little softer. I feel like there's plenty of fics out there already that take place in the middle of the chaos or explore the really dark and violent themes to be had from an AU like this, but I haven't seen more than a handful of fics that looked at a more hopeful side.
> 
> For the purposes of this story: the terror of the Underground has passed, monsters are on the surface free and clear, and everybody's getting better. I think I do still want to explore the trauma and the scars left behind by it so I hesitate to promise no angst at all, but this is primarily going to be fluffy, recovery-based slice-of-life, with a dash of skeleton romance because otherwise, what am I even doing?
> 
> I've got a couple ideas for where this is going, but I'm also more or less winging this so I'm hoping it's headed somewhere good!
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	2. Humerus

You didn’t actually see much of Sans in the days that followed.

His schedule was really more of a non-schedule, something so freeform and seemingly random that if there was a system in place, you certainly couldn’t figure it out.

He did good work whenever he showed up, though, which was a lot more than could be said for some of the other well-meaning volunteers who ended up being more hindrance than help. You figured that whatever leniency your manager gave that let him just sort of come in whenever was probably deserved.

Of course, it was entirely possible that he _was_ around and you were just missing him. You’d been more or less absorbed with your latest pet-project and noticing much of anything around here, even a giant skeleton in slippers, was probably asking too much of your attention span.

On the bright side, you were delighted to say that Buddy was doing great!

A quick buzz and a bath to the new stray had revealed a merle coat and stunning ice-blue eyes that the whole shelter fell in love with almost immediately. With even just a few days of regular meals his scrawny body was starting to fill out, and when his tail got to wagging and he relaxed enough to show off a winning doggy smile it was obvious to everyone that you had a handsome little man on your hands.

So far, though, it seemed that Buddy only had eyes for you.

He was okay around most people; a little shy and nervous, maybe, but he certainly hadn’t bitten or lashed out at anyone. He was just a noticeably more relaxed dog when you were somewhere he could see you.

It wasn’t much of a surprise since you had been there to calm him down that first day—you had a feeling Buddy might show a similar response to Sans—but it was clear that you’d become a safe person to him.

For that reason, it was decided that it was probably in everyone’s best interests if you were the one to handle most of his training and socialization. The bulk of your day-to-day duties was shifted around to other people for the time being and that was that: you’ve been Buddy’s best buddy ever since.

He was currently panting hard beside you, glancing up at you every few steps as if to say, ‘I did good, right?’

“Yes, Buddy, you’re a very good boy.” You gave him a quick scritch along the scruff of his neck—his favorite spot—and opened the door to let him back into the shelter. “Good first walk.”

You’d taken him around the neighborhood the long way, partly exercise and partly a test. Walks were a great way to suss out little things about a dog that were impossible to notice interacting with it just in a kennel, and you found that those details helped you write up the best adoption descriptions possible.

Buddy, for example, loved to sniff _everything_ and had even tracked down a scent all the way to a squirrel dray up a small tree. The one floppy ear of his could be a sign he had some hound-blood in him, which was always better to write than just ‘mutt’ or ‘???’

You’d guess that he also had some feline ancestry of the scaredy-cat variety because as soon as an actual squirrel had popped out and squawked at him, Buddy had hurried away _quite_ suddenly, pulling you along with him. Probably better for a household without other pets so the poor little wuss didn’t get harassed all day long.

“You made it, see?” you cooed, leading him back inside and tweaking his pointed ear. “Gonna get you some water and then you can lay down and catch your breath. Good boy.”

Except…maybe not?

Buddy didn’t seem to want to go back to the dog room and his kennel just yet. Even tired as he seemed to be, he was dragging you down the other hallway and sniffing along the tiled floor with focus.

“What, Buddy? You find a really good smell?” He must’ve because even a gentle tug to his leash didn’t seem to sway him from this new path, just like with the squirrel from earlier. “Okay, guess you’ll show me.”

You could probably spare a couple minutes on a detour and you were more than a bit curious to see where Buddy wanted to go.

Ending up in the laundry room shouldn’t have been much of a surprise. Especially not with a pile of unwashed bedding sitting out right there on the floor.

“Oh, no wonder, that’s a _great_ smell.” A little grin split across your face at your own sarcasm. “Well, it is for _you_ , I guess.”

Buddy did seem pleased by his discovery. His tail was wagging as he enthusiastically nosed through the folds of a tawny brown blanket, nudging it this way and that, and you couldn’t help but smile.

Getting to see a dog that was _so_ scared and hurt barely more than a week ago start to get better; a sweet, silly boy like this having some fun snuffling around in a dirty quilt….

This was why you loved your job.

When Buddy’s tail went still, though, you paused. “What? What is it?”

Obviously, he didn’t answer you so you moved a little closer to the laundry pile, trying to see for yourself. Hiding there in the earth-toned pile, beneath Buddy’s pointing muzzle was a surprising splash of color.

You reached for it and picked it up. Even as Buddy’s tail started to wag again—‘See? Look what I found!’—you tilted your head in confusion.

The thing was…a rock.

Blue-green in color and very rough to the touch, it glinted a little in the light when you turned it in your hand but otherwise seemed to just be a big hunk of stone. Sitting in the dog blankets. Where rocks…usually weren’t?

“What the hell.”

“oh, that’s mine.”

You whirled around and who should be standing there but Sans, huge and looming and having made absolutely no sound with his arrival, like always. You blamed the sudden adrenaline spike for what you blurted out next.

“ _Shit_ , you’re quiet, has anyone ever told you that you should wear a bell?”

It seemed like you’d surprised him with that. The upper ridges of his oddly malleable eye-sockets raised up and his red pupil shrunk from its normal size. He stared at you long enough for you to realize what you’d just said and _stars above_ , was ‘rude’ your default setting?!

“God, I’m sorry, that was—”

A snort cut you off, followed by a full-on chuckle.

“a bell?” Sans echoed, his grin seeming to stretch wider across his skull. “heheheheh… no, that’s a new one. not sure i get the ap _peal_.”

You almost started to apologize again before you caught the emphasis. That was a joke! He must not be _too_ offended by your lack of manners if he was joking with you.

You laughed a little instead and watched Sans perk up, his eye-light dilating back to normal.

“maybe it does, uh… _ring_ a little true,” he admitted. “did i scare ya’?”

“Oh…heh, maybe a little….” You looked down to see that Buddy had fully abandoned the blanket and was now vigorously sniffing at Sans’ feet and legs and everything clicked. “Oh! He smelled _you!_ That’s why he dragged me in here.”

“hm?” Sans looked down too and recognition flashed across his face. “oh, hey, pal,” he greeted, bending to scratch at Buddy’s ears. “ya look good.”

So far, Buddy hadn’t really liked it when hands got near his face. He’d let you do it, though—you and apparently Sans, who Buddy was totally fine with while he sniffed the ever-living hell out of Sans’ sleeve.

“you found my rock, huh? good job, i been lookin’ for that.”

 _Right!_ You held out the chunk of stone in offering. “Here,” you said. “It was under that blanket, I guess you must’ve dropped it.”

Sans straightened and took the rock back from you. What completely filled your hand settled neatly in his palm and his smile turned a little sheepish. “nah, it was in my pocket. but, uh…” He pinched the bottom of his hoodie, highlighting the pocket that the very dog who now came up to smell it had bitten through on his first day here. “i tried to stitch it and called it good, but i guess not so much.”

The rock had some serious heft to it when you held it. You didn’t doubt that it would test a rushed repair-stitch to the breaking point, but… “Why didn’t you just put it in your other pocket?”

“and squish my ketchup?”

“……what?”

Sans seemed happy to show you. He swapped his rock to the other hand and scooped out…god, what had to be at least _two dozen_ little ketchup packets from his pocket.

“don’t always have a rock,” he told you, as if he were actually explaining something, “but i always got these. they were here first.”

The absurdity of the situation hit you all at once. You were standing in a laundry room, holding a dog who was still smelling _everything_ while a skeleton two heads taller than you was very soberly justifying why a condiment collection had seniority over a rock in regards to pocket-storage.

You thought bursting out laughing was completely appropriate.

“Pfft, what the _fuck_ ,” you said through helpless giggles. “Why do you have those? Why do you have either of those things? Oh my god…”

Far from offended, Sans looked delighted by your laughter. “i like ketchup,” he said with an easy shrug, putting the packets away. “as for this…” Sans paused a moment to look at the stone in his hand. He almost seemed to be debating something with himself. “well, i, uh… i’m actually…a little bit of a geologist? so i like rocks.”

Your eyebrows shot up. “What, seriously?”

“yeah. helped out with the CORE a little, back… back Underground.”

The CORE—a technical marvel of geothermal energy production and totally unrivaled by anything manmade so far. According to the news, it had provided heat and light to the trapped monsters even when they had literally nothing else, and top scientists were still studying it trying to replicate its function. It was slow-going research because according to the former monster Queen, everyone who’d built it was dust and gone.

Obviously not entirely true.

“You’re kidding,” you breathed. “That’s amazing.”

Sans just rubbed the back of his neck. “mmm… wore a lotta hats back then. ‘jack of all trades,’ y’know? not into the other technical bits so much anymore, but i still like the geology stuff.” He cracked an awkward smile at you as he added, “it _rocks_.”

You laughed and watched the tension leave his shoulders. You realize pretty quickly that you may have found the key to befriending Sans that’s been eluding you all this time: he’s volunteered more (completely _fascinating_ ) information about himself in the past few minutes than anyone else had learned in weeks, and it all started when you laughed at his jokes.

That certainly wasn’t hard to do. Sans was a funny guy when you actually got him talking and you found yourself really not wanting it to stop.

A glance at Buddy down by your feet and then the clock up on the wall—early afternoon—and you had your idea.

Impulsively and before you could lose the confidence, you say, “Hey, so… I was gonna go get Buddy settled and then head out for lunch. Would you…want to come? The place I usually go to is close by and I’d be happy to treat.”

You’d clearly caught Sans by surprise again. “……really? why?”

You didn’t quite get his confusion but, “Well… I kinda feel like I should get to know you.” You fussed a little with the leash in your hands, trying to spend your nervous energy. “I mean, you’ve been here for how long and I’m only _now_ finding out you’re funny? That’s crazy. Plus I’m going anyway, you don’t have to come if you don’t want to, that’s totally fine, I just thought….” You didn’t know what you thought and you realized you were on the verge of rambling so you let the sentence trail off.

The offer was out there, you’d made the attempt. That was something to be proud of, even if he said no!

“…i dunno,” Sans said eventually and you bit back a sigh of disappointment. “see, i did just lose my _apatite_.”

“That’s okay, I—…”

The _emphasis_. You stared at the rock in Sans’ hand, which he helpfully waggled when he caught you looking.

“……is that. Is that actually apatite?”

Sans looked like he was bursting to tell you, grinning with eager anticipation. “yeah.”

“……”

This time when you completely lost it laughing, Sans joined you with a quiet chuckle that had you covering your face and shaking your head.

“Oh my _god_ , did you plan this? Did you set this up somehow, just for that joke?” you demanded.

Sans snorted but shook his head, “nah, happy accident, i swear. probably the happiest accident of my life, though, that was perfect.”

Still smiling, you looked up at him. “So, lunch, then? Yea or nay?”

“hell, i don’t turn down free food. sure. just gotta put this in,” he nudged the laundry pile with his slipper, “and drop my rock off at home where it’s less funny. lobby in fifteen?”

You blinked in surprise. “You live that close?”

Sans made a face and gave you a so-so motion with his hand. “but,” he winked, “i do know a shortcut.”

And then he was gone again, just like before.

Buddy visibly startled, jumping back up from where he’d been sitting (like a good boy!) and whipping his head around to you, like you could somehow explain to this animal that didn’t speak your language all the nuances of an apparently teleport-capable skeleton.

“I don’t know, man,” you told the poor dog, “I’m in the same boat as you. Let’s just get you that water, okay?”

Buddy actually let you lead him all the way to his kennel this time. He lapped up half of the water you put in his bowl and then padded straight over to his cot where he plopped down with a big, dramatic sigh.

“Yeah, yeah, your life is _so_ hard,” you teased, which Buddy seemed utterly indifferent to so you left him where he was and went to go clock out for lunch.

-

True to his word, Sans was waiting for you when you got to the lobby, greeting you with a crooked grin and an awkward wave.

You mentally laughed at yourself for ever having thought _this_ guy was scary when it seemed like everything he did just proved what a total goober he was.

“You ready to go?” you asked him. “Any last minute jokes you want to get out before we leave? Sight-gags? Puns?”

“heheheheheh… jeez, we haven’t even hung out yet and ya already got me pegged.”

“Am I wrong?”

“nope,” he freely told you. “i was tryin’ to think of somethin’ but ya showed up too early. i’ll let ya know if i come up with anything on the way over.”

And with that, the two of you headed out the door into the lovely, sunshiny day.

The weather was great and you made some small talk about that before telling Sans a bit about the place you were going—a little cheap and a little dive-y, but it was close to work and the food was good so you went there pretty much all the time.

Sans nodded and ‘hmm’ed in all the right spots but you got the slight sense that he wasn’t fully paying attention to you. His eye-light kept casting up to the sky; the endless expanse of azure blotted with fluffy white clouds floating past on the breeze.

You couldn’t bring yourself to be offended by Sans’ distraction. Stars only knew how long he’d spent thinking he’d never get to see a sight like that.

His focus immediately switched back to you again once there was a roof over your heads and he watched you peruse the short menu on the wall. “know what you’re getting?”

“Yep. I’ve got a usual,” you told him, “I think I’ll stick with that. You?”

He looked at the menu himself, processing it for a minute before shrugging. “eh. i’m not picky. anything you’d recommend?”

You turned to face him fully, looking him up and down. Feeling unaccountably playful, you asked, “Trust me to order for you?”

He just eyed you, half-puzzled and half-amused. “sure? knock yourself out, i guess.”

Decision made, you went up to the counter and ordered your usual, “And a triple bacon cheeseburger with everything on it, fries for the side.”

You paid and got your order ticket and went back off to the side to wait…where Sans was unabashedly staring at you in awe.

“how did you _know_?” he asked. “triple isn’t even _up_ there.”

You were probably radiating the smuggest aura right now, but you couldn’t help it. “I told you I come here a lot. The chef is cool, he doesn’t mind throwing an extra patty on there if you ask for it. You’re a pretty big guy, I figured a double might not cut it.”

“and the rest of it?”

“Anybody who carries around as much ketchup as you do is basically guaranteed to be a garbage disposal when it comes to food. No offense,” you added quickly, though you didn’t entirely think Sans _would_ take offense to that. “That, plus you’ve got a pretty big grease stain on your shirt, so….”

Sans looked at the stain and then at you before starting to snicker at himself. “oh my god, you really _do_ got me pegged. you’re not gonna sherlock me the whole time, are ya?”

“I’ll try to refrain,” you offered magnanimously and then sent him off to fill up your drink cups at the machine over on the wall while you stayed to wait for the food.

It didn’t take long for your number to be called and you settled your tray down at a booth Sans had scoped out for you. You found that it was only a _little_ surreal for you to be at your favorite eatery, sitting across from a skeleton that you happened to work with.

After a few more words of small talk about the food—so good, probably in the Top Five of all the burgs he’s ever had, great pick— you find you’ve gathered enough courage to start the social part of the outing.

“So,” you say lightly, picking at your meal, “the CORE. That’s some pretty groundbreaking stuff.” Sans huffs a tiny laugh at the pun. “I kinda gotta ask why a guy like you is at an animal shelter, of all places.”

“mostly this,” he says, reaching up to knock his knuckles against his skull, right next to the broken part of it. “see, i guess when half your head caves in, that makes it start workin’ different than it used to.”

The candid answer sobers you quickly. “Oh.”

“yeah. takes me a little longer to work stuff out than it used to. i forget things easier. got a fun little issue where i just sorta fall asleep sometimes. i got some human medication for it that helps, but it still happens. i’m sure you’ve noticed it.”

You…have.

In the time Sans has been at the shelter, he’s almost always had a follow-up question on a task he’d been given, or needed another run-through on a procedure he’d already been shown.

You hadn’t seen it yourself, but you’d once heard a couple volunteers chuckling good-naturedly near the coffee pot in the break area and saying they should bring a mug to the stock room for Sans; the poor guy must’ve had a late night if he’d passed out halfway through doing inventory.

“Yeah,” you admit, feeling…very guilty all of a sudden. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked. That’s…pretty personal…”

But Sans shakes his head. “nah, don’t be sorry,” he says. “i just like havin’ my cards on the table. i’d be a liability workin’ in some lab with my head the way it is, for sure, but i was outta the science game long before it even happened. it ain’t as tragic as all that.”

“No?”

“nah. i’ve done a bunch of different stuff since then and none of it had anything to do with my degrees.”

You almost asked about that—degree _s_ , plural—but you find yourself more curious about the other jobs he’s tried. He’d called himself a jack of all trades earlier and you wonder just how much that covered.

As it turns out, it covered quite a lot. In between bites of his burger, you get Sans to tell you all about the times he sold concert tickets, rented out a telescope, and ran an illegitimate (?!) hot dog stand.

(You don’t ask what he did during the famine. Even you know it’s a faux pas of the highest order to ask a monster about the famine.)

“i think my favorite was the comedy routine,” Sans says eventually. “had a little time-slot at a fancy resort every other week. that was a lotta fun.”

“I am not even a little surprised you were a comedian,” you say flatly, but with enough of a teasing note in your voice that you see him smile. “Is that something you wanted to get back into?”

“mmm…probably not?” He picks at his ketchup-drenched fries a little. “it’d be nice, maybe, but i dunno if i trust myself to be up on stage for a whole set, these days. nothin’ sadder than live reruns.”

You blurt it without thinking. “The things you take for _granite_ , I guess.”

He’s quiet for just a bit and you worry you may have overstepped there…but a second later he bursts out laughing. The sound is deep and genuine, so much _more_ than his understated little chuckle and you couldn’t have been prouder to be the cause of it.

When he finally looks at you, you swear that the red light of his eye is sparkling. “oh man, good one. hope I remember that, Pap’ll hate it.”

“Pap?”

And you thought you’d found Sans’ conversation button before.

It turned out that jokes were only the _second_ best way to get Sans talking; the _best_ was his brother, Papyrus.

You’d had no idea a skeleton could look so animated until you had Sans smiling, gesturing, practically vibrating with pride across from you as he told you all about his sibling.

Papyrus is the coolest guy ever, athletic and smart and so organized Sans can hardly believe it. He used to be a bit of a chef, but lately he’s had more of a budding (heheh) interest in gardening and their yard looks so colorful now, it’s crazy. He’s also studying to be a nurse _and_ working part-time at one of those big home improvement stores until then.

“we get that money from the human government, y’know,” Sans points out. “we both do, so it’s not like he even _has_ to work? we could coast awhile on what we got and be fine, but Papyrus goes out first thing and picks up a job ‘cause he likes to be productive, and _then_ he starts going to school for an even harder job just ‘cause he wants to help people.” Sans is positively beaming at you. “isn’t my brother cool?”

Well, of course. That should go without saying, but you can’t help but think of Sans, too; how he volunteers at the shelter, spending his unpaid time doing hard, dirty work to help fuzzy people that can’t even thank him.

“It seems like it runs in the family,” you say sincerely.

Like most of the times so far you’ve said something he didn’t expect, Sans needs a couple extra seconds to process it. When he realizes what you said, though, the most curious thing happens.

The light of his eye is a vibrant cherry-red… but the color that spreads impossibly across his cheekbones is a soft gray-blue, like slate or steel.

You can’t help but find it… bizarrely pretty.

“eheheheheh…” His nervous laugh is almost as nice as his normal one, though it does make you want to pat his hand a little and tell him it’s okay. When he immediately changes the subject in the least subtle way possible, you have enough mercy to let him. “so, uh. what about you? what’s your story? why the shelter?”

“Sorry to say I don’t have much of a story. Well,” you amend, “not an _interesting_ one, anyway. I, uh, I’ve always liked animals and I kinda knew from the start that I wanted to work with them, so… it’s pretty much just always been this, for me.” You look down and fiddle with the straw of your empty drink, and laugh, “I’m nothing special, really.”

You immediately wonder if maybe that was a little too self-deprecating. You can feel Sans looking at you and try to decide if you should go for an unsubtle subject change yourself or just wait to see what he says.

You're more than a little relieved when Sans makes the decision for you.

“well……i wouldn’t _terrier_ self up about it. you seem like somebody with a lot of _pet_ ential.”

Your laugh that time is totally genuine, surprised out of you. You look back up, grinning, and can’t quite resist a pun of your own. “Are you _fur_ real, right now?”

But of course, there’s no out-punning the master. “i’m _paw_ sitive.”

You both dissolved into giggles like you were two middle-school girls instead of the grown (maybe not so) mature adults you were.

-

Eventually you both finished your food and it was time to go. Sans had that load of laundry to finish and you wanted to do some more clicker-training with Buddy—you were _sure_ you could teach him to shake and you weren’t giving that up without a fight!—so you headed out for the short walk back to work.

The trip over is quiet, but companionable and it isn't long into it before you find yourself chasing another crazy impulse.

“So… do you want to exchange numbers?” You feel awkward even asking. It’s maybe only the third or fourth time in your entire life that you’ve been the one to ask for a person’s number, but, “This was fun and I don’t really have anybody at work to go to lunch with. It’d be cool to…keep in touch?”

Sans scratched at his cheek. “guess you’d want me to pay for my own food next time, huh?” He made a show of considering this, which made you snicker. “don’t suppose you’d consider lettin’ me open a tab? i’m good for it, i swear.”

“Why do I doubt that _so much_?”

“careful, now, these completely accurate judgments of my character are gonna start hurtin’ my feelings.”

You rolled your eyes with obvious amusement, much to Sans’ apparent pleasure.

“i’m kiddin’, i’m kiddin’, that sounds great. i don’t have a lunch-pal, either.”

You go to get out your phone for him to put his number in, but he’s faster—possibly because it looks like he had his in his ketchup-pocket. He hands it to you unlocked, with the messages screen pulled up.

“just text yourself, it’s easier.”

You do, keying in your number and sending a skull emoji to yourself. You felt the answering buzz of your own phone a moment later but paid it no mind, trying to think of a good name to put yourself under in his contacts.

Your actual name would be boring, but you didn’t want to pick something too out there just in case Sans would look at it later and have no idea who you were supposed to be.

It wasn’t long before you got it. You happily typed, ‘Good@Dogs’ next to your number and saved the contact. You’d have to think of something fun to put Sans as later.

This would be good! It had been a long time since you had a work-friend…or really any kind of friend…and it would be nice to have somebody to go to lunch with sometimes, and to send funny memes to. You had a feeling Sans would appreciate memes.

Plus, maybe you could meet up for other stuff outside of work, like if a cool movie came out or something. You might even get to meet the infamous Papyrus at some point!

There were so many good reasons to have Sans’ number and absolutely none of them were that he was a total sweetheart of a skeleton that seemed to get cuter every time you spoke.

You ignore that thought and go to hand Sans’ phone back, only to pause.

In the minute or so since you’d stopped talking, Sans had gotten distracted by the sky again. He was just standing there on the sidewalk, watching the clouds and soaking up a sunbeam with the corners of his eye-sockets crinkled _just_ so.

Sans suddenly looked like the biggest, boniest cat you’d ever seen, lazing in the sunlight on the verge of a nap. It wouldn’t have surprised you one bit if he started purring and it made you feel….

You cleared your throat. “Sans? Your phone.”

“huh?” His focus turned back to you and the phone you held out to him and the moment was gone. “oh yeah, thanks.”

He took his phone back and you were on your way again.

Oh, no. Sans wasn’t cute _at all._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What's a reader-insert without a teensy bit of denial? ;)
> 
> Thanks so much to everybody who's commented and kudos'd, your kindness is the best kind of motivation for me to keep on keeping on!


	3. Crushed

Sometimes, you kept weird hours at night.

You had a bad habit of coming home from work and immediately passing out, only to wake up around ten or eleven at night and have some space to fill until you could get back to sleep again.

Occasionally you made do with the slim pickings of nighttime TV or made yourself some food that you probably shouldn’t be eating so late, but mostly you resorted to screwing around on the internet with your phone.

That was how you found out that Sans kept weird hours, too.

You had stumbled across one of those unfortunate neon sign burnouts—one ‘Elmhurst Emergency & Trauma Center’ that became the ‘ Im hur t Emergency & Trauma Center’— and immediately thought of somebody who would appreciate it.

Before you could reason with yourself that it was after midnight and you had literally never sent Sans a text before and this was a hell of an opener with no context, you’d sent off the photo.

A response came not ten minutes later.

 **PUNbelievable:** lol thanks for that, Pap just yelled at me to keep it down.

 **You:** Sorry, not sorry!

And that was the humble beginning of your textual friendship with Sans.

You texted back and forth about a lot of things. Most of it was silly stuff you found online (you’d been right, Sans _did_ appreciate memes) but you were surprised by how many topics could arise from that kind of thing.

 **You:** No way you have that many.

 **PUNbelievable:** you doubt my hoarding ability? [IMG-1]

 **You:** Holy shit, so that’s what 86 rocks looks like. Congrats?

 **PUNbelievable:** and those are just the pretty ones. i got some more in shoeboxes and stuff.

 **You:** You have shoes?!

 **PUNbelievable:** hey hey hey what do you take me for, some kind of fancypants? no shoes, just the boxes.

You’d even started to go a little out of your usual way to find things Sans might get a kick out of. You started following a couple geology-themed blogs just so you’d occasionally find something nerdy to share.

 **You:** [IMG-24]

 **PUNbelievable:** whoa, perfect cleavage, thanks. yours?

 **You:** Not mine. Perfect, though? Really? I just thought it was gneiss.

 **PUNbelievable:** calcite, actually.

 **You:** LOL!

Completely by accident, you’d also discovered his love of cat photos. He sent them to you often as reaction images, some he probably just found online but a lot you recognized as cats from the shelter.

He admitted to you that pretty much whenever he got a free moment at work, he was in the cat room, picking up or poking or otherwise gently harassing somebody.

 **PUNbelievable:** most of them are just chill little dudes, they’re great. i love it when they get happy and start vibrating, that’s the best.

 **You:** You don’t have to convince me, I love every one of those fuzzbutts, especially when they purr! I think I just might be more of a dog-person.

 **PUNbelievable:** really? i thought you were a human-person.

 **You:** Hilarious, spoken like a true cat-person. I should’ve put you as Good@Cats in my phone.

 **PUNbelievable:** what am i now?

 **You:** PUNbelievable.

 **PUNbelievable:** what that’s great!

 **PUNbelievable:** keep it!

 **PUNbelievable:** it’s perfect!

A triple-text _and_ the first time you’d ever seen him use exclamation points: how could you say no to that?

It didn’t take long before you caught yourself thinking of Sans as a friend—not just a work-friend, an actual _friend_ —and you weren’t positive, but you were pretty sure he thought of you the same way.

For one thing, when you talked to him at the shelter, he actually talked back. It was a little thing, but it was so unlike the clipped and stiff replies he gave when other people tried to make conversation that it was a noticeable difference.

Sans’ silence had seemed so antisocial and mysterious back before you knew him. Now that you did, it seemed infinitely obvious that the man was just an awkward dork who wasn’t sure what to say and didn’t want to bug anybody so he split the difference by saying as little as possible.

He smiled a little wider when he saw you, though, and mostly came to you now when he’d finished a task and wasn’t sure what else needed doing. He was always available when you were about ready to go to lunch and happily gushed to you over how well his brother’s schooling was going, and he listened attentively when you talked about your own life, even when it couldn’t have been very interesting to hear about.

Sans had to be a friend: you couldn’t think of anybody else you’d rather send videos at three in the morning, and that was the truest measure of friendship you could think of.

Speaking of which…

 **You:** [LINK: [Sad Cat Diary](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PKffm2uI4dk)]

 **PUNbelievable:** oh big mood.

You snicker a little at the mental image of Sans, huge and spooky-looking, trying to sneak up on a tiny thumbtack in the wall.

You’re glad you went for it that day when you asked Sans to lunch. It was impulsive and a little nerve-wracking to put yourself out there like that, but it netted you a really good friend.

You couldn’t regret that, not even a little bit.

-

Buddy was with you again, which seemed superfluous to say at this point, but there he was.

His clicker training had gone incredibly well—the food-motivated little gremlin that he was—and you’d gotten him to pick up all the basic commands that people expected out of their dogs and didn’t want to have to teach them.

He knew sit, stay, drop it (though he was stubborn and sometimes pretended he didn’t), and even shake! He’d also pretty quickly picked up when and where he was supposed to do his business, and after all the socialization you’d been doing with him he didn’t flinch or shy away from being touched by people anymore.

With all that and his clean bill of health from the vet, Buddy was almost ready to go up for adoption.

There was just one small formality left on the list to check off, and it was how Buddy interacted with other animals. Since he spent so much time in the dog room, around other dogs, you already had a pretty good idea of how he was with his own species, so you’d gotten your boy leashed up, asked Sans to snag a couple cats for you, and met in the playroom.

Based on Buddy’s walk awhile back, you had a feeling you knew how this would go, but better to get it all done according to the shelter’s protocols.

Sans was standing there waiting for you when you and Buddy walked in. At your advice, he’d grabbed Snickers and Button, two of the more easygoing cats you currently had with a history of _not_ batting the shit out of curious dog noses.

You had to cover a laugh at the sight of Sans, though. Button was fully latched onto Sans’ arm, all four limbs wrapped around it while she chewed at the cuff of his sleeve, and Snickers had perched herself up on his shoulder to paw at his face while he ineffectively tried to lean away.

“You good over there?” you asked, just to cover your bases.

“yep. as you can see, i’m a ladies man.”

You bent down, undoing Buddy’s leash and giving him a quick pat. “Would you be offended if I made the obvious ‘drowning in pussy’ joke?”

“yes, i would,” Sans said. “that’s just vulgar. low-brow. have some class, wouldja?”

You laughed, which had clearly been Sans’ intention. He grinned proudly even as he knelt and tried to shoo the cats off his body, a little easier to do now that there was something else for them to focus on.

Buddy, for his part, was reacting pretty much exactly how you’d expected. He was alert and very obviously curious…but also extremely unsure about these small bendy-looking dogs that were fearlessly trotting up to him.

“you think he’ll be alright?”

You shrugged. “I think so,” you decided, “more or less. I wouldn’t put him down as a _great_ choice for homes with other pets, but if they’re friendly like the girls here, I don’t think he’d be in trouble.”

Buddy had mustered enough courage to give Snickers a good sniff…only to recoil a little as _she_ sniffed _him,_ something that was obviously uncalled for and totally unpredictable.

“that’s what this is for, yeah?” Sans asked, and you turned to face him. “you’re seein’ what kinda place he’d be a good fit for?”

“Yeah. I mean, that’s pretty much what we’ve been doing the whole time he’s been here. Adoption’s the goal: we don’t have as many rules and procedures as a rescue, but we still want everybody to end up somewhere good.”

Sans’ red eye moved from you to the animals. Button was trying to loop around Buddy’s feet, which Buddy was not sure he was totally cool with.

“so…what’s ‘somewhere good’ for buddy?”

The question made you consider it. “Well… he’d probably need somebody a little patient. He’s still nervous around new stuff and needs awhile to get used to it.”

“sure.”

“Ideally an only-pet situation,” you added. You gestured to where Snickers was playfully trying to catch Buddy’s tail while Buddy hastily tucked it and scrambled around to keep her in his line of sight. “Can you imagine him having to deal with that all day? Or worse, a territorial cat?”

“nah, he’s a lover, not a fighter.”

“Exactly! Big ol’ marshmallow.” You smiled fondly. “Buddy just needs a place where somebody can be his best friend.”

“so…you, right?”

Cue the mental record-scratch.

“Huh?”

Sans clearly didn’t think he’d said anything unusual. “everything you just described is you. you’re patient, no pets, you’re already his best pal. why can’t you take ‘im?”

“I…” You frowned. “I can’t.”

Sans didn’t say anything, but you felt his eye on you so you turned to watch Buddy again. He’d laid down to keep his underside protected, and the cats were rubbing up against him on either side.

It was adorable.

“I can’t,” you said again. “I…work way too much. I’m always here, y’know? I’d feel awful leaving…a dog,” you pointedly don’t say Buddy’s name, “alone in the house all day long. And then half the time when I get home, I just go straight to bed, so I wouldn’t even be able to play with him or give him the attention he should get.”

You chanced a look at Sans. His expression…wasn’t judgmental. Maybe a little…sad? But he wasn’t judging you.

You sighed. “It just wouldn’t be fair to him,” you say finally. “I’ve always believed you shouldn’t get a pet if you can’t take care of it. Buddy’s a good boy, he’ll go to a good home real fast. I wouldn’t worry about it.”

“……if you say so,” Sans replied eventually. “guess i just always wondered why ya didn’t have your own pet when ya take care of ‘em all day. i know i thought havin’ a pet was pretty cool.”

_**Was?** Oh, no._

“Did you…did you lose a pet, Sans?”

You shouldn’t be so surprised. The monsters went through hell underground, it should follow that no one was exempt from it, not even pets… but the thought still hurt your heart.

“yeah,” Sans said, and you ached with sympathy. You reached out to put a comforting hand on his arm when he continued, “Pap and i used to have a pet rock.”

Your expression flattened. “What do you mean, ‘used to’?” you demanded. “You’ve got like a hundred pet rocks.”

“nah, those are just rocks, they’re not _pets,_ ” Sans insisted. “not like rocky was.”

“……His name was Rocky.” Sans nodded. “I am…ninety percent sure you’re fucking with me.”

Sans put a hand to his chest, like an affronted southern belle. “would i do that?”

“Yes.”

“i’m hurt,” Sans said. “really. cut deep. rocky was a very important part of our family, i mourn his loss every day.”

“Okay, so what happened to him?” you wondered, suspicion evident.

“ran away.”

“…………”

“Pap blamed me for it,” Sans continued, shaking his head. “he was probably right to. i never fed him his sprinkles on time. didn’t appreciate him the way i should’ve, he was my rock and i just wasn’t there for him…”

“I’m a hundred percent now,” you said. “You’re fucking with me.”

Sans laughed, loudly and unabashedly. It made you laugh a little too, even though you shoved him in the arm right after.

“You’re such a jerk!”

“seriously, though,” he said. “if you ever meet Papyrus, ask ‘im about rocky, he’ll tell ya’.”

“Oh, I’m sure,” you said, tone dripping with sarcasm. You went over to rescue Buddy from his wannabe feline friends and added, “You better hope I _don’t_ meet Papyrus because I’m gonna remember this and ask him and you’re gonna be exposed as a total liar!”

It wasn’t until you’d gotten Buddy’s leash back on and body-blocked your poor dog friend a little from Button and Snickers that you realized your designated cat-wrangler hadn’t answered you.

“Sans?”

He had his phone out and a serious expression on his skull as he penned something in. You’d learned only a week back that he kept a lot of reminders in his phone. He said it had been a major lifesaver to have something with him that could remember important dates and times for him, even when he couldn’t.

“Did you forget something?” you ask him gently.

Sans took a second to reply. “nah, just…remembered something i wanna do later. don’t wanna forget about it.”

“Okay.” You didn’t dwell on it. “Can you get Heckle and Jeckle here for me? I think Buddy’s had enough friendship for today.”

“yeah, sure.”

Sans scooped up the cats for you with only minimal mewing as protest, and you gave Buddy a scratch at his neck.

“Good boy,” you reassured him, leading him back to his kennel.

You were a little distracted, trying to decide how his adoption description should go.

You’d post it on the shelter website before you left work today.

-

The next day had you feeling…a little annoyed.

A new employee started today, somebody else’s young relative if his last name and obvious resemblance to your coworker were any indication, and no one had ever made you hate nepotism so much in your life.

You tried to rein it in: he was young and it was literally his first day, probably his first ever job and you knew there was always a learning curve. You wanted to respect that!

But… you might feel a little more forgiving if it seemed like he even _sorta_ cared about the shelter and what you all did here.

You couldn’t speak to anyone else’s experience with him, but every time so far you’d tried to show him where something was or what the procedure is for such-and-such, he was looking off into the middle distance and nodding his head when he thought you were looking for an answer.

His phone buzzed once while you were talking and he _broke direct eye-contact_ with you to respond to it.

You knew right then that he was somebody only in it for the paycheck. You didn’t think there was anything wrong with that, a job was a job, but he could at least have some decorum and try to look like he wasn’t bored of being there right in front of the person training him!

It was even worse because today was a day Sans wasn’t working. You couldn’t even complain to him about the new guy, or ask him to cover all the stuff he probably _wasn’t_ doing that you’d have to go do yourself later.

Needless to say, you were already in a not-so-great mood when he came up to you in the middle of litterbox emptying around mid-afternoon asking for your attention—by the _wrong_ name.

You didn’t bother to correct him. “Yeah, I can take a minute. What’s up?”

“The front desk girl called back. She said a guy wants to see a dog?”

…helpful. “Did she say anything else?” you prompted. “We got a lot of dogs here.”

He squinted, seeming to think about it. “Uhhh… I think it was Buddy? Or something like that.”

You weren’t quite prepared for the way your stomach dropped when he said the name. To cover it you spoke quickly, “Okay, thank you, I’ll go handle that. Can you finish cleaning the litterboxes for me?”

He sighed deeply, muttering, “I guess,” but you were already shucking off your gloves and heading to the sink to wash your hands. You could comfort yourself later with the knowledge that this guy couldn’t possibly last long here with an attitude like that. For now…

Oh, god.

You knew this was coming. You’d written up a great description for the website, and Buddy sat for his picture like a professional model: one ear flopped and the other pointed up with his pretty blue eyes and his tongue lolling happily out of his mouth.

He was a good boy and a beautiful dog, you _knew_ he’d get adopted quick.

You just…hadn’t thought it would be so soon.

It’s not like you hadn’t gotten attached to dogs before. It happened a lot, actually, and it hurt a little each time watching them walk out the shelter door, but it had always been a light sting, easily soothed by the knowledge that they were going to a good home with people who’d love them.

But you had a terrible feeling that Buddy was going to hurt a lot more.

“How come you’re different, you little stinker?” you asked him, opening up his kennel and stepping in.

Buddy seemed oblivious to your sudden distress. He all but hopped off his cot when he saw you and the leash in your hand, his tail wagging while he sniffed at your pant leg in greeting and oh stars, this was going to be the last time he ever did that.

You got down on your knees to put his leash on. “C’mon, you gotta be a good boy. We’re gonna go meet your new dad.”

Because really, there wasn’t a question of _if._ It was like you’d told Sans, there wasn’t really a screening process or applications needed to take home a pet from here.

If you liked a dog, filled out the single sheet of paperwork, and paid the fee, that was your dog—and who _wouldn’t_ like a sweetheart like Buddy once they met him?

You took a deep breath and got back to your feet. “Alright,” you said, mostly to yourself. “Alright. Let’s go, Buddy.”

The walk over to the lobby seemed shorter than it had ever been. You had to force yourself not to stop right before the doorway for ‘just a minute,’ knowing damn well that it wouldn’t be just a minute.

When you got there, there was only one person waiting in the lobby…and the sight of him nearly made you drop the leash.

He was a skeleton.

If you’d thought Sans was a big guy, the sight of this man scrunched into the almost comically small waiting chairs had instantly disabused you of the notion. It was hard to get a bead on exactly how tall he must be, since he was seated so politely with folded hands, but you’d guess he might be actually double your height, if not taller. He at least wasn’t built as broadly as your friend, but his overall length of limb seemed to make up for it and if it weren’t for his obvious good manners the sheer size of him might’ve been enough to make you a little nervous.

Well…his manners, the cobalt-blue squares of his (really cute) braces, and his matching glasses frames that were actually taped to the sides of his skull.

He spotted you almost the moment you walked in and rose to greet you.

“Hello!” he said cheerfully, offering one massive, spindly hand for you to shake. “I’m Papyrus! It’s A Pleasure To Meet You.”

It was…interesting trying to figure out how to shake his hand in return with the obvious size difference, but he took pity on you and helped you make it work. You introduced yourself right back.

“Ah, Of Course,” he said when you told him your name, “Sans’ Human. He’s Told Me A Lot About You, All Good Things, Naturally!”

You laughed a little, feeling just a tiny bit nervous all of a sudden at the thought of Sans talking about you—and at being called ‘Sans’ human.’ “Likewise. Uh, congratulations on acing that test last week!”

Papyrus scoffed, but you couldn’t help but notice the sudden hint of denim-blue on his cheekbones. “Thank You, But Really, I Have No Idea Why Sans Would Brag About That To Anyone! Did He Tell You The Exam Was On The Human Skeletal System?”

“Pfft… No, he left that part out, I think.”

“I Didn’t Even Study, For Obvious Reasons,” he told you, gesturing broadly to himself. You suddenly noticed the vibrant rainbow tie-dye crop-top he was wearing, and the black jacket he had over it with intricately embroidered flowers stitched into the leather.

Sans had been _so_ right: Papyrus was _insanely_ cool.

“We’re Getting Off-Topic,” he declared, bending further from his already hunched position to look at the dog beside you. “This Must Be Buddy. Hello!”

Buddy’s nose went straight into the hand Papyrus reached out to him, sniffing with vigor as always.

“Ah, You Smell My Bone Cologne! You Must Be A Dog Of Excellent Taste, A Connoisseur Of Fine Smells!”

You couldn’t help your smile. “Buddy certainly is that,” you agreed. The cold dread that had pooled in your gut at the thought of Buddy being adopted today had curiously disappeared and it left you feeling lighter than air. “Why don’t we all head to the playroom for a bit? You can interact with him a little better in there than in the lobby.”

“Excellent Suggestion!” Papyrus said. “I Would Be Delighted!”

The skeleton followed you further into the shelter, ducking under door frames blatantly not built with his height in mind. You were glad that the playroom had a high ceiling so everyone would be comfortable there.

As soon as you were all through the door, you unclipped Buddy’s leash and wrapped it up around your hand. “Papyrus, you can go ahead and ask Buddy to bring you a ‘t-o-y,’ he knows what that word means and he’s good at fetch.”

“Oh, So Am I!”

“Really?”

“Yes, Unrivaled At Fetch In All Of Snowdin,” he said proudly before pausing and looking a tad hesitant. You noticed he had the same nervous gesture Sans had, of looking down and to the left, and you found it unspeakably endearing. “Well, I Was, Anyway, For A Time. I, Erm…Worked Quite Closely With The Canine Unit And My Fetch Time Was Always The Best Out Of All Of Them! My Training Regimen Hasn’t Been… _As_ Rigorous As It Was Back Then, Though, So I Suppose I Can’t Say With Certainty That It’s The Same. I’ve Been Busy Lately, Even By My Own Standards!”

“I know the feeling,” you empathized. “Adding Buddy into the mix won’t be too much, will it?”

Papyrus laughed, a bright and booming ‘NYEH-HEH-HEH’ that totally disarmed you.

“I Don’t See How It Could Be,” Papyrus assured you. “Buddy,” the dog focused on him instantly, “Can You Bring Me A Toy?”

Buddy perked right up when he heard the word of fun-times and happily bounced off to pick his favorite, a spiky rubber hedgehog that had seen better days, but its squeaker still worked so it was The Golden Toy to many of the dogs here.

Papyrus seemed pleased to have the slimy thing dropped into his hand and he gave it a gentle lob across the room. Buddy went after it like a shot. Almost as if he knew his performance was being judged, he even jumped a little to snatch it right out of the air.

Papyrus gave a suitably impressed noise and patted Buddy on the head when he returned the hedgehog. “Well,” he said, giving the toy another toss, “He’s Smart And Fast And A Very Handsome Dog—He’s Already Met All My Standards!”

“I can’t say I’m surprised, I’m pretty fond of Buddy myself. I, uh, I have to admit, though, I am curious why…” You frowned, wondering if the thing you were about to ask was presumptive. “Did…Sans tell you? About Buddy?”

“Yes, Of Course!” Buddy brought the hedgehog back again and Papyrus put it to the side, abandoning the play in favor of scratching through Buddy’s black and white fur. “We Don’t Really Keep Secrets. I’ve Known About Buddy For Quite Awhile!”

“Oh. Right.” You cleared your throat. “Then, I guess I don’t have to give you the disclaimer about his one unfortunate biting incident? Which hasn’t been repeated!” you quickly added.

Papyrus didn’t seem concerned. “The Only Thing Unfortunate About That Incident Is That Sans Still Wears That Old Hoodie!” Buddy had rolled over onto his back and if his windmill of a tail was any indication, his new skeleton friend was very good at belly rubs. “It Speaks To Buddy’s Tenacity! I Admire A Dog Who’ll Protect Himself When He’s In Trouble!”

Not many people saw it that way—an aggressive dog was just an aggressive dog, even with extenuating circumstances. Papyrus’ perspective was…refreshing.

“Well… he’s not exactly a guard dog, if that’s what you’re looking for,” you cautioned. “Mostly, he runs _away_ if he’s in trouble, so…”

“That’s Even Better! Unnecessary Conflict Is So…Unnecessary!” Papyrus grinned broadly at you. Even with his braces, it was a totally winning smile. “I Think Buddy Will Fit Right In At Our House!”

“That’s…that’s great!” you said and you sincerely meant it. “If you’re ready to take him home today, we can go back to the front and get everything settled.”

Papyrus agreed immediately.

On the way there, he seemed compelled to assure you that he was well-prepared for Buddy’s arrival. He’d read through as much dog-ownership literature as he could find online last night and purchased all the essentials as soon as the stores had opened this morning: kibble, a bed, a leash and collar set with bones on them—and how fashion-forward was it of dog-accessories to include bones in their designs? Papyrus was very impressed!

“…And Of Course, He’ll Get Plenty Of Exercise, I’ve Been Looking For A Jogging Buddy And He Already Has The Right Name For It!”

You laughed. “Papyrus, I can’t tell you how great that is to hear. I love knowing my dogs are going somewhere good for them. You know half the people who adopt don’t even fill out the form all the way?”

Papyrus looked at the piece of paper you handed to him. He flipped it over to see the blank backside and frowned. “What, Seriously???”

“Seriously. It's not technically required, mostly for record-keeping, so people just don't do it or leave a bunch of blanks. You wouldn’t believe how many of those have no addresses because people couldn’t be bothered to remember what street they lived on.”

“………” Papyrus started snickering. “Oh My God, How Embarrassing… Nyeh-Heh-Heh, I Really Shouldn’t Laugh,” he said, grabbing a pen and jotting down his information. “That Sounds Like Exactly The Kind of Thing Sans Would Do.”

“Does it really?”

“Sadly, Yes. If I’d Left This Up To Him, It Would All Be Blank Except For _Maybe_ His Name. And Then He Wouldn’t Turn It In. And I’d Find It Three Weeks Later Crumpled Up In His Trash-Tornado.”

“That sounds…exactly right, actually.” _Sorry, Sans, can’t defend you against completely true accusations!_

The lobby was quiet for a few moments, filled only by the sound of Buddy’s panting and the scratching of the pen.

Then Papyrus spoke up again. “Actually… Is…. Feel Free Not To Answer, If It’s Something You Don’t Feel Comfortable Discussing, But… Sans.”

You waited for him to finish his thought, but he didn’t. “Yes?” you prompted.

“He’s Not… Is He Like That Here?” Papyrus asked you, looking concerned. “I Know He’s Not Technically ‘Employed,’ But… He _Does_ Things Here, Right? He Doesn’t Just… I Don’t Know, Sit In The Break Room All Day And Look Busy When Someone Important Walks By?”

You blinked, startled by the thought. “No, he doesn’t do that. He’s a big help around here. Actually,” you added, sheepish and a little quiet in case your voice carried, “I was kind of upset he wasn’t in today, ‘cause I don’t think I’m gonna get as much done without him around to lend a hand.”

You may as well have told Papyrus it was his birthday and every other holiday combined into one.

“Really? Oh, That’s Great!” He pressed a hand to his chest and heaved out a relieved sigh. You weren’t quite sure how that worked with a skeleton, but there it was. “I’m So Glad He’s Being Productive. I Knew This Place Would Be Good For Him! He’s Even Made Two Wonderful Friends!”

Oh, that meant you and Buddy, didn’t it? You think you might be flushing a little, but try to play it cool.

You and Papyrus get the adoption fee and all the other logistical stuff taken care of and soon enough, “That’s it, Buddy’s all yours, free and clear!”

“Thank You So Much For Your Assistance! And Obviously, Call Me Anytime!”

You paused. “Call you?”

“Yes, Of Course! My Number Is On The Form.” Papyrus seemed to notice you were still confused. “Sans Mentioned You May Want To Come Visit Buddy From Time To Time. You Seem Almost As Busy As I Am, We’d Probably Need To Align Schedules At Some Point To Make It Work.”

_Sans mentioned…?_

You put a pin in your train of thought. Hesitantly, you got out your phone and pulled the piece of paper closer. “Are you sure that’s alright?” you asked, just to make sure. “I, uh… I can’t say I don’t want to see Buddy again sometime, but….”

“Nonsense, Any Friend Of Sans Is Welcome Over Whenever.” Papyrus gave another quick pat to Buddy’s head. “And Any Friend Of Buddy Is Doubly Welcome!”

Good enough for you! You put his number in your contacts, just under ‘Papyrus’ for now. “You know,” you said as you did so, “we could be friends, too. If you wanted.”

When you looked up from your phone, you found Papyrus staring at you like…well, like he didn’t know what to say.

“…Really?”

“Sure?” Offering to be friends with somebody shouldn’t have been able to put a look of such touched _elation_ on their face, but there was Papyrus looking like you’d just offered him the moon in a few short words.

“Oh! Well, That’s! That’s Fantastic! I Accept!” He was blushing blue again even as he laughed that cute laugh of his. “A Friend, Wowie!” He seemed to remember Buddy at his feet. “ _Two_ Friends! What A Day! I’m Sorry To Leave So Suddenly, But I Think I Have Some Energy to Run Off Right Now, Do You Mind?”

“Not at all,” you promised. “Go bond with your new dog.”

“I Will, And Thank You Again! Come Along, Buddy!”

Buddy spared a glance at you, seeming to wonder why you weren’t coming with, but he wasn’t concerned enough to hesitate more than a second before trotting after Papyrus out the door.

Buddy didn’t need to worry about never seeing you again, after all. Neither did you, for that matter.

All thanks to a certain meddling skeleton.

A skeleton that you called the _second_ you went off the clock for lunch.

 _“y’ello?”_ he answered after a couple rings, sounding a little like you’d just woken him up.

You didn’t waste time feeling guilty about it. “Hey, did you tell your brother to adopt Buddy?”

_“heheh, what? no.”_

“Really? Because he said—”

 _“look, i don’t **tell** Papyrus to do anything,”_ Sans said flatly. _“…but maybe i did mention that the cool dog was up for adoption, the one who tried to eat my terrible jacket that Pap hates. and that my pal at the shelter might be a little, uh… sad if he went real far away and they couldn’t see ‘im anymore. if he decided to go pick buddy up after that, that’s just serendipity, y’know?”_

You huffed out an incredulous breath. “I can’t believe you did that.”

_“did what?”_

“You adopted a dog for me!”

_“he’s a good dog. Papyrus can tire ‘im out when he’s not at work or studying and i’m not at the shelter every day, so i got ‘im the rest of the time. that’s what you were worried about, right? buddy gettin’ left alone too much?”_

“Well…yeah.”

_“so, problem solved, right? plus you can have visitation an’ stuff. long as you pay child support.”_

You snorted loudly. “Child support?”

_“yeah, child support. he was your son first.”_

“He’s not my— what even is ‘child support’ in this scenario?”

Sans sounded like he was thinking it over. _“mmm…lunch for a month?”_

“…you’re kidding.”

_“you’re right, two months.”_

“That’s not how haggling works!”

_“drivin’ a hard bargain, huh? okay, a week.”_

You finally broke down giggling. “Fine,” you laugh, “fine, a week.”

_“oh, nice, i didn’t think that would actually work.”_

What a _goober._

“Oh my god. Okay, sorry to bug you on your day off, you can go back to bed now, I guess.”

_“bold of you to assume i ever left it.”_

“And Sans?”

_“yeah?”_

“Thanks.” It seemed weak. Not enough of a word to convey the warm gratitude you felt bubbling up in your chest when you thought about what he’d just done for you—him and his brother both.

It was weak, but it was all you could think to say.

 _“forget about it,”_ Sans said simply.

And that was that.

You got on with your day, going to lunch, coming back and dealing with your duties and that damn new guy, but the whole time, in the back of your mind, you were thinking, _He adopted a dog for me. He sent Papyrus to adopt Buddy so I wouldn’t be **sad.**_

You were starting to think that maybe you were in trouble here.

Your relationship with your ‘pretty good friend’ was starting to feel an awful lot like a crush.

-

Later that night, Sans texted you first.

 **PUNbelievable:** hey, sounds like you made my bro real happy today. thanks, he deserves to have more good stuff in his life.

 _So do you,_ was your first thought, but something told you Sans might not see it your way.

 **You:** Sure, he’s as cool as you said he was, but don’t think you’re off the hook about that Rocky thing because I forgot earlier. I’m gonna ask him next time and then you’re busted!

 **PUNbelievable:** lol

You had almost mustered enough irritation to be playfully annoyed at him when he sent another message.

 **PUNbelievable:** [IMG-13]

It was picture of Buddy curled up on a bare mattress in a dark room—Sans’ room—with a big bony hand settled on his withers mid-fur-ruffle.

 **PUNbelievable:** somebody’s making himself right at home, guess life over here ain’t so ruff.

…Okay, yep. You were crushing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some notes: 
> 
> Yes, we are 1000% going hardcore Soft HorrorTale, the softest thing you can possibly imagine, that's what I want this fic to be in my heart of hearts.
> 
> This chapter was supposed to be slightly shorter and then Papyrus showed up and hijacked it, I love him so much, he needed this spotlight, I guess!
> 
> BOTH of these skeletons blush blue, like the color of their magic, nothing against other colors but that's just how we're doing it in this house, I make the rules, sorry. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> And finally, Reader can no longer deny the truth: Sans is cute!
> 
> Thanks for reading, everybody! Your comments and kudos make me so happy! :)


	4. Bone Appétit

You’d always known your lack of etiquette-related knowledge was going to get you into trouble.

…alright, well, maybe not always, but you’d had a feeling that not knowing Proper Adulting Protocols might be a problem for you at some point and done absolutely nothing about it, so your current predicament was entirely your fault.

It had all started with Papyrus.

You had sent him a text shortly after your first meeting, asking after his availability to meet up—and he’d immediately called you back.

Unlike his brother, who was happy to text at all hours of the day and night, it turned out that Papyrus was more of a phone person who would always just rather talk.

To be fair, it was a lot easier for you to tell him all about the nice little park nearby that you knew about over the phone, and it had made for a pretty damn cinematic reunion spot for you and Buddy when you all finally made time to meet.

It made you smile to remember the way your dog friend had gone absolutely fucking nuts when he saw you for the first time in over a week, wiggling and whining and straining so hard against his harness to get to you that if it had been anyone but Papyrus holding his leash, you might’ve been worried.

You’d already pretty much known it, but you’d since confirmed the undeniable truth: Papyrus was a really cool guy!

Your little park hangouts started to become a regular thing and even considering you had a dog as a social buffer, the conversation between you came so naturally that you think becoming friends with this skeleton was an inevitability, with or without Buddy.

Papyrus was genuinely incredible at carrying a conversation. He filled awkward spaces like a professional and introduced new topics with ease when the old ones dried up; things you felt you’d always struggled to do yourself. He was also a beacon of cheer and optimism the likes of which you’d never met and it seemed like just being near him was enough to brighten your mood on a rotten day.

That may have been another family trait. Sans had a similar effect on you, only he didn’t even have to be in the room with you to do it. You doubt that from anyone else, a picture of a baked potato fallen on the carpet and the single word ‘dang’ texted at 1:47 AM could’ve brought you to literal tears of laughter like it did coming from Sans.

 **You:** Oh no, that’s so sad!

 **PUNbelievable:** [IMG-42]

 **You:** OMG, you’re still eating it?! Pick the dust-bunny off, first!

 **PUNbelievable:** can’t, it’s fiber.

 **You:** No!!!

Among other things, Sans was a great catalyst for a lot of your chats with Papyrus—when topics of his schoolwork got too technical for you to follow, or the latest news in monster politics and what negotiations King Gerson was involved in ran thin, Sans was always a staple to fall back on.

If Sans loved to gush about his brother, then Papyrus loved to gossip about his in equal measure, something you took full and shameless advantage of.

 **PUNbelievable:** hey, why’d you tell Papyrus about the garlic powder sweetener thing? i thought we were cool?

 **You:** You think you can put garlic in your coffee, choke on the first sip, and then try to insist to me that it’s better that way and down the whole thing and I WOULDN’T tell your brother you did it?

 **You:** Besides, he told me how you only started drinking ketchup as a gag and then got hooked, I felt like I owed him a funny story back.

 **PUNbelievable:** oh my god, you’re ganging up on me. i feel so attacked right now.

 **PUNbelievable:** [IMG-54] look, your son is heartbroken that you could be so evil.

 **You:** What were you holding above your head to make Buddy do that face for you?

 **PUNbelievable:** pizza.

 **You:** Well did you give him any?

 **PUNbelievable:** lil bit.

It was talking about Sans that had gotten you into this situation, though.

“You Go To The Same Place For Lunch _Every_ Day?” Papyrus had asked, somewhat incredulous. “Wowie, It Must Be Quite The Restaurant!”

You had paused in the middle of pressing smooches to Buddy’s forehead, turning to the big lanky skeleton squished onto the park bench beside you. “Well, it’s cheap,” you admitted, “which is most of it, but Sans and I really like it so yeah, I guess it’s good!”

Papyrus was suddenly squinting at you from behind his glasses. “Wait. _Sans_ Likes It? Oh No, It’s A Grease-Trap, Isn’t It?”

“Ehhh…” You couldn’t really find the words to deny it. None that weren’t outright lies, anyway.

“Oh My God, That’s Terrible!” Papyrus lamented, a hand pressed dramatically to his skull. “You Can’t Live On Grease! Well… You Can, But You Really Shouldn’t! Do You At Least Eat Actual Food For Dinner?”

You had snorted, ruffling Buddy’s fur. “Actual food as opposed to… what, fake food?”

“Yes!” Papyrus had thrown a toy for Buddy to fetch and your only hope of distraction had practically sprinted out of your hands after it. “Frozen Meals, Microwaved Stuff, Things You’d See In A Gas Station Convenience Store And Wonder If It’s Marked Down So Low Because It Expired Two Years Ago.”

“………” Papyrus had just described half of your kitchen and pantry. “Well…”

“Oh My _God,_ ” he’d sighed. “I Suppose I Should’ve Known If You’re Friends With My Brother, But If You’re My Friend, Too, You Can’t Eat Garbage _All_ The Time! I Can’t Allow It!”

Your little traitor returned and you’d busied your hands playing tug-of-war with his toy. “I don’t have many other options,” you told Papyrus. “I’m no chef and I like to have something actually edible after work, so it’s kinda pre-made or nothing.”

Papyrus had looked thoughtful for a long moment, and then settled firmly on a conclusion.

“Then You’re Coming Over To Our House For Dinner,” he’d declared. “When Are You Free?”

And that was the story of how you’d ended up here, at a nearby drugstore at what felt like the last possible moment, trying to figure out whether you were going to buy something or not.

You were pretty sure that housewarming gifts were still a thing, but Sans and Papyrus hadn’t just moved into their house. Were you still supposed to bring something?

It was your first time formally seeing the place, and you were going to be a dinner guest, so that was probably enough to warrant a gift…? Right?

You knew a bottle of wine was usually the go-to for things like this, but then also, neither of your friends had struck you as big drinkers. The last thing you wanted was to give them something they’d put in a cupboard and never use, but that also crossed off the only thing you knew for sure was generally expected and accepted.

You’d been aimlessly wandering around the store for awhile now, much longer than you’d wanted to be here when the whole gift-thing had occurred to you. If you kept this up, the employees were probably going to think you were here to steal something.

 _Okay, come on, you’re making this too hard. Just… get something small,_ you decided. _Something they’d like, the first thing you see, just do it!_

Papyrus ended up being easy enough to choose for once you forced yourself to stop over-thinking. A fuzzy desk succulent in a cute little pot had jumped out at you right away and it now sat innocently in your basket while you did one more lap around the store, looking for something to join it.

It was proving a lot harder to turn off your brain and just pick something for Sans, though, which frustrated you to no end.

(It had surely nothing at all to do with your very small and totally negligible crush on the guy, and how you wanted to somehow impress him with a thoughtful gift that you carefully chose in ten minutes on the way over to his house.)

 _Sans is a simple guy,_ you reasoned with yourself. _This should be easy, just think of what he likes!_

Well, obviously, Sans liked food, but it seemed a little gauche to bring snacks to a homemade dinner.

He liked cats, but there wasn’t exactly a surplus of cat-related merchandise here. Besides, it felt a little like a betrayal to bring a cat-thing to the house where your dog-son, as Sans kept insisting, lived full-time.

_God, what else does he like?!_

You were near some office supplies now and sighed deeply. You were unlikely to find anything good over _here_ unless Sans had some deep, abiding love for colorful paperclips that he never told you about.

You had almost completely turned away from the aisle when you saw the basket of paperweights.

As soon as you picked up one of the smooth stones and read the ‘motivational’ text on it, you knew.

“It’s perfect.”

The weight plopped into your basket and you happily hurried up to the front to pay for your items.

All you had to do now was get there on time, and you were golden.

-

You actually managed to be early! Stress really did fudge your perception of time, apparently.

Papyrus had given you great directions and you found the house without any trouble. It was a little small but in good repair and in the middle of what seemed to be a very nice neighborhood.

You’d been assured you’d know which house to go to as soon as you saw it, and with the cute string of fairy lights wrapped decoratively around the fence of just one abode you were pretty sure you were in the right place.

With your gifts in hand you go up to the door and knock, hoping you’re not _too_ early and no one’s ready to answer the door.

You shouldn’t have worried, of course: ‘too early’ is an oxymoron for Papyrus who throws the door open and greets you with his usual enthusiasm right away.

“Welcome To Our Home!” he says, ushering you inside. “It’s Such A Pleasure To Have You Over!”

“It’s a pleasure to be here,” you agree. You’d seen more of the inside of this place than the outside, through pictures, but it was so much nicer to see it in person. Their house had such a warm, homey vibe to it that just didn’t come through in background glimpses on your phone.

A vibe that was totally disrupted when Papyrus very loudly announced to no one that you’d arrived.

Oh, maybe not no one. The pronouncement of your name had claws skittering distantly on some tile and much, much closer the snort of somebody just waking up.

Buddy burst into the room to wiggle excitedly at your feet just in time for a very sleepy-looking Sans to sit up and lean over the couch he’d been napping on and wave a little ‘hey.’

He might’ve almost looked cool doing it if his hoodie-string hadn’t found its way into his eye-socket sometime during his nap and he had to awkwardly fish it out right in front of you.

“Sweet dreams?” you couldn’t help but tease.

“nah, i don’t dream,” Sans said distractedly. He spotted the objects in your hands. “what’cha got there?”

“Oh, I brought gifts!”

“Oh My Goodness, How Courteous,” Papyrus exclaimed. “You Certainly Didn’t Have To Do That!”

“They’re small,” you promised. “It’s just a little ‘thank you’ for having me over!”

You held out the succulent to Papyrus, who gasped loudly.

“Oh, _Very_ Little!” He took it from you and held it up to admire it. The plant in its tiny ceramic pot had fit in your palm, but Papyrus could hold it in just the tips of his long bony fingers. “It’s So Cute! And Thoughtful! Thank You, I Love It!”

“Don’t thank me yet, you haven’t seen Sans’ gift.”

You passed the paperweight over to a curious Sans, still hanging over the back of the couch.

He took one look at it and immediately dissolved into ugly, wheezing laughter that made you downright giddy with pride.

While he was losing his shit, he helpfully flipped it over to show his brother the writing on it.

‘NOTHING IS WRITTEN IN STONE’

“Nyeh-Heh-Heh, Oh No, That’s Great, Too!” Papyrus assured you. “I Love Irony!”

“it’s perfect, i’ll cherish it forever.”

You smiled…and then the sight of Sans holding the rock sparked an elusive memory in your head.

“Like you cherished Rocky?”

Sans had been lucky until now. Even once you’d started hanging out with Papyrus on the regular, you _always_ seemed to forget to ask about the fabled ex-pet and cursed yourself at home later for letting it slip your mind again and again.

Not this time!

“Oh My God, I Should’ve Known That Would Come Up Sooner Or Later.”

You watched Papyrus kneel, fondly brushing over Buddy’s fur. “Listen,” he said to you, very seriously. “I Promise You, You Don’t Have To Worry About Our Dog’s Safety.”

“…” Wait, what? “I don’t?”

“Not At All! Buddy Is Being _Very_ Well Taken Care Of Here, _I_ Am In Charge Of His Mealtimes,” he told you with a pointed glare at his brother. “And Buddy Is Never Outside Without A Leash Or In-Yard Supervision, So There Is _No Chance_ Of A Rocky Repeat!”

_…oh my god._

“Oh, that’s…good to know,” you managed to get out. “Very comforting.”

“Good, I Strive To Be Comforting At All Times!” Papyrus stood, his attention back on his new little succulent. “Please Excuse Me For A Moment, I Need To Put This Where It Will Get The Best Light.”

And then Papyrus went off to squirrel his gift away, totally oblivious to the turmoil he’d just caused in your mind.

“………… _Oh my god._ ”

Sans lost it again, practically cackling at you even as he pocketed his newest rock.

“Rocky was _real?!”_

“i told you he was,” Sans snickered, shaking his head. “you really gotta start trustin’ me more, jeez.”

Your mind was blown. Your world-view shaken.

Clearly, the only solution was to pet a dog.

You went around to the front side of the couch and plopped down on the floor where Buddy immediately swarmed over to you now that you were on his level.

“Hi, Buddy, good boy,” you cooed, letting him sniff and lick at your face. “At least _you_ make sense.”

You may have gotten a little absorbed in scritching and snuggling because eventually Sans interrupted. “hey, i’m here, too, y’know.”

You spared him a sidelong glance. “What, you want a belly rub, too? Ear scratch?”

“sounds like a neat trick, wanna try it?”

He actually leaned down a little bit, tilting his head in invitation. You laughed but…what the hell, why not? If he was cool with it…

You reach up and give the unbroken side of his head a little scratch. You think this might be the first time you’ve actually touched him without cloth in the way and the texture of his skull is a lot smoother than you would’ve guessed; more polished and almost soft. Your nails don’t catch on any scrapes or divots at all and you wonder if all his bones feel the same way.

Which is… wow, a lot more suggestive-sounding than you intended it.

Feeling needlessly bashful about it, you pull your hand back. “How was that?”

Sans didn’t seem quite so affected. “for an ear scratch with no ears involved? it was great, a for effort.”

“Gee thanks,” you scoffed. “See if I go for the belly rub after a rousing motivational speech like that!”

There’s not much small-talk to make waiting for Papyrus to get back. You had both just seen each other at the shelter earlier in the day and not much has come up to talk about in the handful of hours you’ve been apart.

Sans does tell you that his brother has been looking forward to this dinner all week, though, and he thanks you for coming.

Unnecessary, as far as you’re concerned. “What, like I’m gonna turn down dinner at my three best friends’ place? Come on.”

And oh, look at that, you’d made Sans blush again. Stars, it was downright adorable the way he turned blue and pretended like he totally wasn’t, with that shy little, ‘eheheheheh’ of his.

He really had to quit doing that. It wasn’t exactly helping you forget about your crush that definitely wasn’t a big deal at all.

Papyrus saved you both with his return. He didn’t ask or even seem to notice anything unusual about the fact that you were on the floor with the dog, and you admired his ability to roll with the punches.

“There, All Settled! Now, As Much As I Admire And Appreciate Your Earliness, It Does Mean That Dinner Isn’t Quite Ready Yet…”

“That’s fine, I’m not in a hurry!” you assured.

“Well, That’s Good, Because Even If You Were, It Wouldn’t Cook Any Faster!”

“Is there anything I can do to help out?”

Papyrus seemed visibly startled. “Really? You Want To?”

You shrugged. “I wouldn’t mind. I’m not great in the kitchen but I do have an extra pair of hands, if they’d help. Besides,” you added, “I think I’d get antsy sitting around _not_ helping while you did all the work!”

Papyrus clasped his hands over his chest and fixed you with a beaming smile. “I Knew There Was A Reason I Liked You!” he said. “Sans, Take Notes, This Is The Thing You Need To Practice.”

At the mere mention of doing something, Sans flopped back onto the couch. “yeah, okay, cool, i’m note-taking right now.”

Papyrus squinted at him. “You’re Going To Sleep Again.”

“nah, i’m takin’ the notes on my eyelids.”

“You Don’t Even Have Eyelids!”

A loud snore was Sans’ response.

You laughed even as Papyrus let out the most comically frustrated noise you’d ever heard.

You’d only hung out with these guys separately before and you don’t think anything could’ve prepared you for how _hilarious_ they were together.

“Come on, Pap,” you chuckle, getting to your feet. “Leave him be, he did some stuff at work today. Let’s go check on dinner.”

Papyrus relents and you follow him into the kitchen, where it looks like he’s making pasta.

You’re a little relieved—that’s a pretty easy dish that even you can help with, so you ask him what he’d like for you to do.

Your job, he tells you, is to watch the noodles and stir occasionally until they’re ready. He’ll be busy throwing together the accompanying salad, apparently made up of veggies from his very own garden.

If he was trying to impress you, he’s absolutely succeeded.

You alternate between watching the noodles cook and watching Papyrus chop fresh greens. His cuts are swift and even with obvious skill behind them and you feel like this man could’ve easily become a professional chef.

“Sans said you don’t cook much these days,” you said. “I think I feel a little honored that you’re doing it now just so I didn’t go home and eat a frozen gas station burrito instead.”

“Ugh.” Papyrus paused mid-slice, looking to the ceiling as if begging for divine intervention. “I Knew, I _Knew_ You Were Eating Crud Like That.” He pointed the knife in his hand at you, mock-threatening. “You Better Not Let Me Catch You With That Garbage!”

You raised your hand, a parody of scouts’ honor. “I solemnly swear, Papyrus, you will not catch me.”

He sighed. “That’s The Best I’m Going To Get, Hmm?” You playfully shrugged and he went back to chopping a cucumber. “Well, Fine. But Of Course I’m Going To Cook If You’re Coming Over To Visit! It’s A Very Important Step In Friendship-Building, You Know!”

“Is it?”

“The Most Important! I Used To Make Spaghetti All The Time Underground, Literal Oodles Of Noodles! My Friend Taught Me The Recipe And Our Cooking Lessons Were Wonderful Bonding Experiences!”

“Wow, that must’ve been some good spaghetti.”

“Oh, Not At All,” Papyrus told you. “It Was Terrible, She Didn’t Know The Recipe, Either. But We Had Fun Making It Anyway!”

You stifled a laugh. “Why’d you keep making it if you guys didn’t even know how?”

“Cooking Underground Was Much Harder Than It Is Up Here, With All Your Syndicated Food Shows On TV And Those Recipe Blogs On Your Human Internet,” he said, flapping his hand dismissively. “We Had A Cooking Program That Aired Sometimes, But It Was Pretty…Erm…Unique. Not Very Replicable In One’s Own Home. And We Had The Undernet, But It Was A Lot Better For Social Media Than Anything Else. Basically, If You Wanted To Learn How To Make Something, Your Best Bet Was To Know Someone Who Already Knew How To Make It And Have Them Teach You.”

“And if you didn’t?” you wondered.

“Trial And Error! And Lots Of It!” He grinned a little. “Honestly, It Was Mostly Error, But It Was Hard Finding People To Taste-Test And Give Useful Suggestions. All I Had Was Sans, And I’m Sure You Know By Now, He’s Disgusting. I’ve Seen Him Eat Mayonnaise With A Spoon, Directly Out Of The Jar. I Can’t Rely On Anything He Says As Useful Critique!”

“Garlic coffee,” you agreed, sadly shaking your head.

“Nyeh-Heh-Heh, Exactly! Please Don’t Worry About The Quality Of _This_ Spaghetti,” he added as an afterthought, “I’ve Studied Plenty Of Actual Recipes By Now With Only The Highest Amount Of Stars Given In Reviews!”

“I wasn’t worried. I’m sure Master Chef Papyrus has something great cooking, literally.”

He laughed but you could tell he was flattered and patted yourself on the back for making him happy.

It seemed to you that the noodles were just about done and Papyrus came to take over the pot from you when you said as much, because he didn’t have any skin to potentially scald with hot water— unlike your poor fragile human self.

You watched him drain the noodles in a steady, practiced motion, admiring his general grace when he spoke again.

“Not That You Asked, But I Prefer Not To Keep Many Secrets From My Friends And… Well, We Are Friends, Aren’t We?”

“Definitely,” you agreed in a heartbeat.

Papyrus smiled. “Then Because You’re My Friend, I Don’t Mind Telling You That The Reason I Don’t Cook As Much As I Used To Is That I Have Some…” He paused a moment. “Well, The Word My Therapist Used Was ‘Trigger,’ Is That A Term That People Use Outside Of Therapy?”

You try to school your expression to something neutral at the sudden turn. “Yeah, it is.”

“Then I Have Some Triggers That Are Kitchen-Related, So It’s Usually Just Easier To Avoid The Situation As A Whole. For Mental Health Reasons!”

Your neutral expression fails, crumpling into a concerned frown. “Papyrus, I don’t want you risking your mental health for _my_ sake.”

“I’m Not!” he cheerfully assures you. “It’s Only Certain Things In The Kitchen, And This Is All Very Safe. I’ve Never Had A Reaction Around Vegetables Or Pasta… Which Is Great Because I’m Not Sure I’d Know What To Do With Myself If I Couldn’t Prepare My Signature Dish For My Very Cool Friend!”

 _That’s_ a relief. “Alright, as long as you’re not putting yourself out.”

(You realize, of course, by process of elimination, that raw meat is probably the thing that triggers Papyrus. You don’t need to ask why and you don’t intend to.)

“It’s nice to know you’re looking out for your mental health,” you add, with genuine sincerity. “Do you and Sans see the same person?”

“Hmm?”

“For therapy,” you explain. “Sans doesn’t come in to the shelter every day. Is he your ride to the office on the other days? Or… are you his? I feel like you would be his, I can’t imagine him taking on that much responsibility.”

Papyrus is…suspiciously quiet, busying himself with food-plating and not meeting your eye.

You backtrack a little. “You don’t have to answer or anything, if it’s private. I totally get that, no hard feelings…”

“Mmm…Sans…” Papyrus says haltingly, “Doesn’t Go. To Therapy.”

“…Oh.”

That… wow, that really sits badly with you.

Sans is a grown skeleton. You know that, of course you do, and you especially know that you have no authority whatsoever to tell him what he should or shouldn’t do. If he’s not seeing a therapist, that’s his business and should be totally fine.

But…

You saw the news reports. When monsters had first surfaced. The pictures that came out… of the monsters who’d escaped and the desolate, horrific prison they’d escaped _from_ …

There was no other way to put it: it was _bad_ and everything humanity had seen of it had only been the aftermath. You couldn’t even begin to imagine the kind of grisly day-to-day these poor people had suffered through and you weren’t alone in knowing that—there was a reason health care had been the quickest thing humanity facilitated for monsters, physical _and_ mental.

The fact that your very good friend lived through the Underground and _isn’t_ getting any kind of counseling…

It doesn’t feel right. You really don’t like it.

At the same time though, you’re not sure how you’d even begin to express that thought. Anything you can think to say would come off as the worst kind of pushy; like you could possibly know best at something you really knew nothing about, or had any kind of right to dictate what he _should_ do just because you were friends.

Instead, you decide to just…bite your tongue.

Papyrus is far too sharp for you, though. Without you having to say a word, he seemed to read every thought in your facial expression with a single glance.

“No, I Know, I Agree,” he told you. “I Would Love For Him To See A Therapist, Too. It’s Really Helped _Me,_ It Would Be Nice If He Could…. But Also…He Has His Reasons For Not Going. I Thought He Was Just Being Stubborn, At First, But… His Reasons Are Actually Good Ones.” Papyrus grimaced a bit, looking at you beseechingly. “You Said I Didn’t Have To Answer If It Was Private. Would You Be Satisfied If I Told You The Reasons Why Are Private?”

“Of course,” you agree immediately. You don’t understand what a good reason _could_ be, in a situation like this, but if it’s private, you know it’s not your place to understand.

Papyrus looked infinitely relieved by your answer. “Then The Reasons Are Private. But, Don’t Worry Too Much About Sans, He’s Almost As Tough As I Am! He Really _Has_ Been A Lot Better Lately, Even Just On His Own. Besides,” he added with a conspiratory smirk. “We Know He Has At Least Two Very Cool People Looking Out For Him If He Ever Needs It!”

“That…really does make me feel better,” you admit, smiling a little despite yourself. “Thanks, Papyrus.”

Sans was doing okay, you assured yourself, and if he ever wasn’t, you’d be there to help. You and Papyrus both!

You share that pleasant moment of solidarity and then you’re moving on. The food has to get to the dinner table somehow and tall as he is, Papyrus only has two hands and you’d promised him an extra set.

It makes you audibly snort in surprise when on the way, Papyrus wakes Sans by kicking the edge of the couch and yelling, “Sans, You Lazybones, Wake Up! Your Friend Is Over For The Very First Time And You’re Going To Snore On The Couch All Night?”

“nah, I can snore at the table, too,” Sans mutters, rubbing his face and finally rolling off the cushions onto his feet. “i’m versatile like that.”

“You’re Impossible, Is What You Are, You Bipedal Snail!”

The bickering is almost jarring from how warm and concerned Papyrus had been about Sans just a few minutes ago, but the affection in both moments is obvious enough, if you know where to look for it.

 _Little brothers,_ you think with amusement.

Sans meets your eye on the way to the table and you get the sense that he’s having the same thought. You share a smile and he shrugs as if to say, ‘what’re you gonna do?’ before you all sit down for a delicious meal.

You almost lose your mind when Papyrus places a bowl of kibble at the fourth place setting and Buddy hops up into a chair like he’s done it a million times before, chowing down with the rest of you.

You want to take approximately ten thousand pictures of it, but Papyrus wasn’t kidding when he said he’d been studying recipes so you also really do not want to stop eating what is probably The Best Spaghetti You’ve Ever Had.

Dinner conversation is filled with effusive compliments to the chef from everyone. Or, you, at least. Sans is complimentary, but you’re not sure he has it in him to be _effusive,_ and Buddy literally couldn’t speak.

He’d stared puppy-dog-eyes at everyone still eating and drooled a considerable puddle into his bowl after he finished his kibble, though, which was…sort of a compliment?

At some point, the topic of work had come up and Papyrus spoke a bit about his part-time job at the home improvement store. You learned that he was exceedingly coveted in the lumber department for his ability to just pick up giant boards and planks when it took several of his smaller human coworkers to accomplish the same task.

You also learned that one of said coworkers had mentioned she had negative vacation time allotted. “…And I Was Sure To Clarify If She Was Speaking Hyperbolically, But She Was Entirely Serious. _Negative_ Time Off! I Feel Like That Shouldn’t Be Allowed, Don’t You?”

Taking off so many days that you _owe_ your employer your time? “That doesn’t seem right,” you agree. “It feels kind of shady of your boss to allow that, but I don’t know. I can’t really imagine taking that much time off that I’d be in the red. The last time I took off was…ha, well, that week our manager forced me to take off, right before you started, Sans.”

You realized that somehow, that story had never come up when Sans looked at you with wide eye-sockets and a dawning grin. “wait, wait, hold up, she _made_ you go on vacation? like she told you that you _had_ to stay home for a week?” At your confirmation, he snickered. “oh my god, that’s the funniest thing i ever heard, that’s so _you._ ”

You weren’t blind to the humor in the situation. You laugh at yourself a little along with him, but Papyrus interjects.

“ _I_ Would _Never_ Take A Vacation!”

The conviction in his tone gives you pause. “Wait, really? _Never?_ ”

“Not For _Any_ Reason!”

Sans chuckles. “you’re so intense, bro,” he said fondly. “it’s awesome.”

“…Well, now, I kinda want to _make_ you go on vacation,” you admit.

You recognize the hypocrisy—you had certainly never really wanted to take time off when you had so much you felt you needed to do at work—but something about Papyrus’ firm stance just gave you the urge to be contrary.

Besides, it isn’t as if these skeletons don’t _deserve_ a break or a trip or something. They’ve been up here for more than a year and haven’t gone _anywhere_ else? That’s just a damn shame!

If you knew these guys at all, though, you knew you’d never get them going anywhere if you couldn’t convince Papyrus first. Sans was a homebody in the extreme and you’d _need_ his brother on board to have any hope of dragging him somewhere out of his way.

“Isn’t there someplace you’d want to go?” you ask Papyrus. “Just to visit? Anywhere at all?”

“None Come To Mind!” Papyrus insists. “And I Certainly Wouldn’t Want To Request Time Off For It!”

You think you have your plan, at those words.

“You don’t work weekends, do you?”

Sans props his elbow on the table, looking casual but his hand is suddenly covering as much of his ever-widening smile as possible. He’s clearly already figured out where you’re going with this, and you’re grateful he’s sorta trying to shut up about it.

“No!” Papyrus answers, almost petulantly. “They Wouldn’t _Let_ Me. And I Don’t Have Any Classes Either, Weekends Are The _Worst!_ There’s Only So Many Weeds I Can Pull In The Garden Until There _Aren’t_ Any More Weeds To Pull, And The Best Soap Operas Are Only During The Week, Which Is Prejudiced Somehow, I’m Sure!”

“I don’t work this weekend, either. We should do something. Y’know, for the sake of doing something instead of just laying around all weekend.”

Papyrus squints at you. You realize he’s also figured out what you’re up to.

“……Hmm, A Trap, Obviously. And Not Even A Very Clever One, I’m Afraid. You’re _Clearly_ Trying To Trick Me Into Some Sort Of…Vacation-ry.”

“Is it really a vacation if you don’t take any leave for it, though?” you debate. “If you drove somewhere for a couple hours and then came back, you wouldn’t call that a vacation.”

“Alright, Definitional Nuance, _Getting_ More Clever,” he concedes. “And Where Would This Hypothetical Not-A-Vacation Take Place?”

“Maybe that could be a surprise?”

You’ve never seen Papyrus look pissed before. “Ooh, Curses, I Love Surprises! Alright, Fine! You’ve Shanghaied Me, But Only If I Get To Drive!”

Fantastic, you hated driving distances. “Deal!”

-

Dinner ended and Papyrus went around collecting the dishes to wash—but this part he insists is the host’s duty and encourages you to sit with Sans and bask in the glow of a delightful dinner.

You can’t even make a sassy remark at that, it really _was_ delicious. Instead, you plop yourself down onto the plush couch cushions right next to Sans.

“And Stars Above, Sans, Entertain Them!” Papyrus admonishes his brother. “You’re Technically A Host, Too, You Know!”

“yikes, that raises a whole _host_ of problems”

You snicker.

“Oh My God, That Wasn’t Even _Good!_ You’re Lucky They Like You!”

And with that way too accurate final statement that you hope nobody is thinking about as hard as you are, Papyrus was back off to the kitchen.

“Don’t listen to him,” you say to Sans, “I think you’re funny.”

“oh don’t let ‘im fool you, he does too,” Sans says, winking like he’s letting you in on a secret. “he just hates to give me an easy laugh. wants me to put more effort into my jokes instead of goin’ for the low-hanging fruit.”

“Sounds like he’s not _berry grape_ ful for your _zesty_ sense of humor.”

“it’s enough to make a guy _melon_ choly,” Sans agreed. “it’s the _pits,_ actually, but I understand his _raisin_ ing.”

You laugh and then a brilliant idea strikes you. You hurriedly whip out your phone and gesture for Sans to come closer so he can see your screen.

He watches over your shoulder as you pull up your contacts list and change ‘Papyrus’ to ‘PAPaya.’

Sans laughs, his deep baritone laugh that you can physically feel, especially when he’s sitting so close to you. It hits you anew how goddamn _big_ he is when you realize that even though you’re sitting down on the same couch, the top of your head doesn’t even clear his shoulder.

“Is it ever weird for you?” you blurt, suddenly curious. Sans doesn’t answer, but his expression goes confused. You quickly add, “Being friends with me, I mean.”

That didn’t seem to clear anything up. “…because… you’re human?”

“No, no, the… the size difference. Is it weird?”

“oh. i dunno, i never thought about it before?” He scratches at his cheek a little, pondering the new concept. “i mean, most humans i met have been kinda small. i don’t think you’re _that_ much different….”

You feel like he’s not giving the matter the appropriate amount of consideration. Driven by the need to prove your point, you wordlessly take his hand and flatten your palm against his.

(It’s definitely for size-comparison reasons. It has nothing to do with wanting to hold his hand.)

As soon as his big red eye-light falls on the sight of your hands pressed together, he snorts and starts laughing again. “oh my god, never mind, i take it all back, you’re _teeny,_ what the fuck.”

“I am _not,_ you’re just huge!”

You must not have said it very convincingly. “i can almost close my hand,” he giggled. “oh my god? this is hilarious.”

His fingers fold over yours a little bit and you definitely don’t spend an inordinate amount of time thinking about the way it feels. It seems like all the scrapes and nicks you were expecting on his skull are down here instead and the scratchy roughness is a fascinating texture against your skin. You’d love to explore it more, but friends didn’t really stroke each other’s hands just because, and you don’t want to be weird.

You pull your hand away. “Come on, don’t be a jerk about it!” you say, shoving away from him playfully.

“aww, okay, you’re right, i’m sorry.” He grabs your sleeve and tugs you back toward him. “c’mere, bring it in, apology-hug.”

You hug him.

It’s almost like being totally enveloped in him— he’s unfairly huge and his arms around you practically block out everything else, even when your own arms can’t even reach all the way around his broad-set rib cage. You do your best and find that his bones are hard against your body, which you’d expected, but not poking anywhere or really even uncomfortable, which you hadn’t.

He’s warm and he smells exactly like you’d have guessed he smelled, like ketchup and dryer sheets, but surprisingly, it isn’t gross. It’s…homey. Comfortable.

You’re a little startled by how much you like it and the thought makes you realize you don’t actually know how much time has passed since this hug started.

Has it been just a few seconds or _more_ than a few seconds? He’d have nudged you away if it was too long, right?

Should…should you pull back first?

Is this awkward now?

Sans seems to answer all of your questions in one fell swoop…by setting his chin down on top of your head to emphasize how tiny you are.

Clearly his plan all along.

“Oh, you fucker, get off me!”

You wriggle out of the hug and he lets you go. One brief second of eye-contact is all it takes to set you both off.

The two of you are laughing like loons by the time Papyrus comes back from doing the dishes.

He proceeds to tell you all the proper hostly things— that it was a lovely evening, and they loved having you over, and you all must really do this again sometime, future Not-A-Vacations notwithstanding—and you know it’s about time for you to be heading out.

It’s getting late and it’s a weeknight, so you and Sans have work in the morning and Papyrus has an early class to attend, so you completely understand. Papyrus gives you a wonderfully large tupperware of leftover spaghetti to take home with you and walks you to the door with Buddy trailing after you.

You say your goodbyes to him, and to Papyrus, and you turn to Sans to do the same.

He cuts you off.

“hey,” he says, leaning casually against the wall like the coolest guy in school in every teen movie and staring down at you with lidded eyes. “can I come with?”

Oh boy. _Wow._

As it turns out, you are _not_ prepared for the things you feel when you’ve got your crush looming over you, asking to come home with you for the night.

“Uh….” You try your hardest to cover how flustered you suddenly feel and let your mouth fill the awkward space. “I, uh, I wasn’t really planning on doing anything else tonight? I was really just gonna go home and sleep, I feel like there are, heh, better times for a hangout?”

Sans laughs and for one terrifying moment, you thought it was at you. “nah, no, you’re right,” he says. “sorry, i literally just meant coming to your house, wasn’t plannin’ on staying more than a minute.”

Your confusion is apparent enough that he continues. “you’ve seen me take shortcuts, right?” he asks. “y’know, when i’m someplace and then i’m not, ‘cause i’m someplace else?”

Oh, yeah, that neat little trick. “Yeah, I’ve seen you do it a couple times.”

“well it only works if i been somewhere before. so if i tag along with you, you can leave your car at home next time an’ i can just drop you off.”

_Right. Yes, obviously, that makes sense._

“Convenient,” you say out loud. “Sure, let’s go.”

-

The drive home isn’t nearly as awkward as you worried it would be.

It’s actually… very nice.

You don’t talk much because you’re feeling a lot of feelings that need some time to be processed, but it wasn’t like Sans was talking, either. The pleasant weather was holding strong and you had the windows down, so the skeleton in your passenger seat was leaning against the door and staring totally absorbed at the moon while the warm night air blew past his skull.

Even in mostly uninterrupted silence, you find that you just feel comfortable with Sans and that’s something you really like.

You get home almost too quickly and Sans asks if he can come inside, “just to see the place, real quick, you know me, last thing i wanna do is stand between you and sleep.”

You didn’t have time to clean up or anything before you left the house, so it’s not as neat as it could be, but you don’t feel particularly embarrassed. You’ve seen enough photos of the inside of Sans’ room to know there’s no comparison.

Your house is just your house, not very big or painfully small, not insanely messy or hyper-clean. You feel like it’s an accurate reflection of you: just average.

“Got what you needed?” you ask Sans. “Is this enough for you to…shortcut? Or whatever?”

He seems to consider it. “let’s find out,” he says. “what time do you leave in the morning?” You tell him. “cool, I’ll pop over tomorrow, you can give me a ride to work.”

That seems…so _unnecessary_ for somebody who can literally teleport.

You almost tell him so but he shoots you a wink and shortcuts out right before your eyes.

You take a deep breath and huff it out in one long exhale.

After a minute, you go to put the leftover spaghetti in the fridge before you forget about it.

It would be a shame to let Papyrus’ cooking go to waste just because you were getting all tied up in knots over his unaccountably charming brother.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew, that felt like a long one... but things are starting to happen. ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)
> 
> Thanks for reading, everyone!


	5. High Tide

**PUNbelievable:** so, where are we going?

 **You:** No means no, pal! Drop it!

 **PUNbelievable:** seriously, come on, where?

 **You:** Even Buddy knows ‘drop it,’ you’re being ridiculous!

It had only been two days since you’d decided you were taking the brothers on a quick day-trip over the weekend and you were learning something about Sans that you’d never known before: he was a _persistent_ bastard when he decided to be.

 **PUNbelievable:** how is it ridiculous to wanna know where we’re going? i gotta pack the right stuff, don’t i? if anything, i’m being responsible, you should be proud of me.

This had pretty much been your life on and off since then. Sans had been harassing you as unsubtly as possible for details on the mystery excursion near-constantly and you were very firmly blocking him at every turn.

The first day, when you were both physically in the same car and then the same building, had been almost impossible to get through. Sans had trailed after you like a puppy all day, his eye-light bright and a mischievous tilt to his grin as he tried to tease it out of you—unsuccessfully, you were proud to say!

You thought you’d have a little more peace on the second day, when he wasn’t going to be in, but of course you weren’t that lucky.

 **You:** You’re not packing anything, Papyrus is going to pack and I gave him a list, you will have what you need.

 **PUNbelievable:** what if i don’t, though? what if we end up on a long nature trail and i don’t have my hoverboard? i’d have to walk with you and Pap like some kinda peasant.

 **You:** Bullshit you have a hoverboard!

 **PUNbelievable:** well if i gotta go buy one, that’d be good info to have.

It was…a little annoying trying to get any work done with your phone buzzing in your pocket every couple of minutes, but mostly you thought it was just funny.

You were pretty sure that this was how Sans was showing his excitement for the secret non-vacation and it made you happy that he was interested in the idea you proposed.

All you have to do now is make sure it _stays_ a secret for one more day, the herculean feat that it is.

 **You:** You don’t need to buy anything. We’re going tomorrow. Why can’t you wait until then?

 **PUNbelievable:** why can’t you just tell me now?

 **You:** Because if I tell you, you’ll tell Papyrus and the surprise is ruined!

 **PUNbelievable:** jeez, is that all? just say it, i’ll probably forget, you know me and little details.

 **You:** This is a text conversation, Sans! If you forget, you’ll just scroll up!

The hairs on the back of your neck bristled and that was your only warning before you had two massive hands on your shoulders and the big skeleton they were attached to was leaning over you.

“so if i was here, you’d tell me?” Sans murmured just above your head.

His voice was low and teasing and it sent a shiver up your spine that you tried your best to tamp down.

This right here was part of why you were so proud you hadn’t spilled the beans yet: Sans was _not_ playing fair, at all.

It was like you’d broken some invisible barrier that night at his house, a touch-barrier, and now, well…

Sans was _all_ over you.

In the past two days, you’d been treated to more shoulder-taps, arm-brushes, and…whatever the hell _this_ looming thing was than in the entire course of your friendship up until now.

(Possibly even longer than that, actually. You didn’t have many people in your life close enough to be touching you. It was just Sans.)

It was little things, nothing even remotely creepy or invasive but honestly, you were loving it. More than you should be, considering that Sans was just your totally platonic friend who had no idea that every time his fingers touched your skin, it sparked a less-than-platonic thrill in you.

_God, I **hope** he has no idea._

You ducked out from under Sans’ gentle grip, whirling around to face him. You weren’t even a little surprised to see that big, smug grin on his skull and it made it easier for you to be annoyed at him.

“I’m not telling you, quit fishing!” you admonish him.

“but i’m _reel_ ly curious. don’t you think it’s a _boat_ time you told me?”

You try to keep a straight face. You’re pretty sure you fail. “That’s not going to work.”

Sans’ grin shifts into a smirk. “aww, am i on _fin_ ice?”

That breaks you. You’re laughing when you tell him, “You’re the worst!”

Far from insulted, Sans beams down at you. “you’re smiling,” he says, nudging your arm playfully.

“That doesn’t mean you’re not a jerk,” you shoot back. “It just means you’re a _funny_ jerk.”

He shrugs. “hell, i’ll take it. goin’ to lunch?”

You had literally just clocked out when Sans had started texting you again. “Yes? How’d you know?”

Sans snickered. “you always go at the same time. practically on the dot. you never noticed?”

You checked the time and frowned. “Well, shit, I didn’t realize I was _that_ predictable.”

“hey, i appreciate predictable.” Sans slings an arm over your shoulders, using it to angle you towards the door. You try not to focus on the part of your mind that wants him to pull you in for a little side-hug, instead. “c’mon, i’ll let you buy me a burger, that’ll take your mind off it.”

“You’re a leech.”

“yeah, I really _suck._ ”

“Pfft! Are you just always on, or what?” you ask, letting Sans steer you out of the shelter.

“only for you, my friend,” he replies. “you’re my special exception. can’t think of anybody i’d rather pun at.”

He’s joking. You know he is.

But still, now that he’s said it, you feel like…maybe there’s some truth to it?

Sans is a high-caliber joker. He’s ready to deliver a cheesy joke or groan-worthy pun at any opportunity, but the only reason you know that is because you’re close.

Before you’d met him— _really_ met him—he’d seemed so quiet and withdrawn, you would’ve never believed he even _had_ a sense of humor, and how wild was that?

He was actually still like that, around other people at the shelter, but as soon as you walked in he opened right up like he was just as comfortable around you as you were around him.

It occurred to you that maybe you really _were_ his ‘special exception.’

(You’d never been anyone’s ‘special’ anything before.)

“I’m flattered,” is what you say out loud, in a tone that says you’re not, but now, suddenly, you’re thinking…

What if this crush of yours isn’t one-sided?

What if it could be _more_?

It’s a _hell_ of a thought.

“y’know, you were pretty tight-lipped back there soon as we got to talking about fishing. did i get it?”

_“………Oh my god!”_

You can’t believe this skeleton, you’re trying to have deep revelations over here and he’s still just trying to get you to spill the beans!

“You’re like a…!”

Sans gives you an odd, perhaps even slightly concerned look when you stop dead on the sidewalk.

It relaxes into something eagerly curious when he sees you’re trying not to laugh. “what? what am i like?”

“You’re like a dog with a bone.”

Sans guffaws and you’re entirely too pleased with yourself.

“dunno if ya noticed,” he wheezes eventually, “but i think i got a lot more than just the _one_ bone.”

“Yeah? How many?”

“too forward,” he tsks, clucking a tongue he doesn’t have like he’s shaming you. “ya don’t ask a man how many bones he’s got, that’s private.”

You raise your eyebrows. “Is it really, or are you just screwing with me again?”

“wouldn’t _you_ like to know?”

Sans winks his empty eye-socket at you and the smile on his face is playful; coy.

 _Flirty,_ now that you’re looking for it.

And that’s certainly…something.

Even as he immediately brings the topic of the trip back around—proposing an exchange of the location for details on skeleton etiquette—you’re thinking thoughts you’d never dared to touch before.

Thoughts like, _what if I actually went for this?_

You never had before. Other crushes in your life had come and go without much fanfare and you’d let them, like water off a duck’s back.

None of those crushes had shown interest back, though. Maybe that was why this new direction your brain was taking wasn’t absolutely terrifying to you: Sans _does,_ actually, seem interested.

 _At least a little,_ you reason with yourself. _Enough to be flirting, anyway._

It’s an exciting concept, the idea that your crush is flirting at you. With you? Are you flirting back? You’re not entirely sure, but that doesn’t fill you with nervous energy the way it had in an unrequited context.

Oh stars, who was going to make the first move?

Should you do it? You weren’t sure how that’d work, or what you’d say or when, but it would probably have to be you. You didn’t think Sans was the kind of guy to ask you out first.

_…or is he?!_

Sans said your name and you snapped back to reality. “you okay?” he asked. “you’re lookin’ a little flushed down there. didn’t think you’d be that excited for golfing tomorrow.”

You scoffed at the lame attempt. “Golf isn’t exciting,” you said flatly. “Now, hiking, _that’s_ exciting.”

“……for real?”

“Yeah! A long, rough trail with really steep inclines, that’s the best. Papyrus would love that, don’t you think?”

“…………wait, seriously?” Sans’ big, red pupil had shrunk a little and it was a real struggle not to laugh at him. “are we…is hiking the thing? we’re hiking?”

You flounced ahead of him, just a few steps, and turned back to quip, “Wouldn’t _you_ like to know?”

Sans huffed at you, not quite pleased to have his own words turned against him and also still not a hundred percent if you were joking or not, but still begrudgingly appreciative of what you just did there.

There was no reason to get ahead of yourself, you decided with a smile.

You were feeling a spark and you were pretty sure it was reciprocated, but you didn’t have to be in a hurry to make anything happen.

You had a mooch to buy lunch for again, plenty to do back at work, things to pack and arrange tonight so they’d be ready in the morning, and then an outdoor excursion with all your favorite people.

This whole thing with Sans… you think you can afford to just play that by ear for now.

If you know anything about Sans, you know he’s not going anywhere in the meantime.

-

Papyrus was furiously laying on the horn of his shiny, red convertible while you sat in the passenger seat beside him. You had your hand over your mouth, trying to keep him from noticing your amusement.

“SANS, I SWEAR TO GOD, IF YOU MAKE US ONE MINUTE LATER THAN YOU ALREADY HAVE, YOU WILL _NOT_ LIKE WHAT HAPPENS!”

Naturally, Papyrus had been fully ready to go when you’d arrived—dressed in the generic outdoors wear you’d suggested with prescription sunglasses taped to his skull and a bag of essentials packed in the trunk of the car.

Sans had apparently needed a few more minutes to drag himself out of bed.

And ‘a few’ turned into ‘ten,’ and then to ‘fifteen,’ at which point Papyrus had held the passenger door open for you, settled into the driver’s seat himself, and began threatening his brother with an unholy wrath the likes of which you’d never seen.

A skeleton monster twice your size yelling very loud and angry threats beside you sounded like such a terrifying concept on paper, but Papyrus being…well, _Papyrus_ softened it considerably.

It was hard to do anything but hold in your laughter when he kept punctuating his yelling with apologetic looks to you and softly muttered condolences like, “I’m So Sorry To Make You Wait, I’d Love To Say He Never Does This, But He _Always_ Does This, I Don’t Know _Why_ I Keep Giving Him The Benefit Of The Doubt When He Says He’s Almost Ready, He _Never_ Is, But Stars, Look Who I’m Talking To, You Know What He’s Like, SANS, WE ARE _WAITING_ ON YOU, GET OUT HERE!”

You only caught it because you happened to be glancing over at the rearview mirror.

In the blink of an eye, Sans was lounging in the backseat, already buckled in somehow and with Buddy obliviously draped over his lap.

He looked a little tired, a little out of breath, but mostly just insufferably smug.

“waitin’ on you now, bro.”

Papyrus whipped around, mouth open to deliver a surely scathing retort…only for his teeth to click shut as he faced forward and started to drive instead.

“You Frustrate Me, Sans,” he said tersely.

“love you, Pap.”

“Nyeeeeeeh, I Love You, Too!”

His resentfully sincere tone was too much. You laughed and turned in your seat to face Sans.

“Dude, what took you so long? Papyrus was two seconds from dragging you out himself.”

“I Was, That’s Accurate!”

Sans unceremoniously plopped Buddy onto the other seat. “had to get through my skin-care routine.”

“…You don’t have skin?”

“not with that attitude.”

“ _Excuse_ me?”

“come on, you don’t think all’a _this,_ ” he gestured to himself, “just happens, do ya?”

You eyed him critically. Same shorts and slippers as always, same old blue hoodie—zipped up for once, but that was all.

“No,” you said as dryly as you could, “I can’t imagine how much you have to roll around in dirty laundry piles to get that look.”

Sans was delighted by your assessment and snickered while Papyrus just groaned.

“Don’t Give Him Ideas,” he admonished, “He’ll Probably Do That Now!”

“Sorry, Pap.” You focused your attention on Buddy instead, who had seemed to have no idea what was going on but was at least happy to be there. “Hi, good boy, are you excited for the trip?”

Buddy’s ears perked and his tail wagged. He was obviously thrilled to be talked at, and if you wouldn’t have to twist your entire body out of your seat to do it, you would’ve aggressively fluffed his fur for being such a cutie.

Sans leaned forward a little. “he’d be more excited if he knew where he was going.”

“No, Sans, that’s you. You’re thinking of you.”

“maybe me an’ buddy got a psychic link, you don’t know.”

“Sans, If You Have Dog-Related Psychic Powers And Are Only Just Now Telling Me, I Am Officially Disowning You,” Papyrus interjected before turning to you. “I Assume You Have Directions Because Otherwise We’re Just Going To Drive Around Town Aimlessly. Which Is Fine By Me But Probably Not Your Intentions For The Day!”

“Right, yeah, one sec!” You got out your phone and pulled up the directions. “You’re gonna wanna take a left here…”

-

The car ride proceeded to be the most interesting one you think you’ve ever had.

The radio was the subject of much debate the entire way, with neither brother quite agreeing on any station. Papyrus seemed to prefer harder rock music, while Sans liked the more techno-pop-y tunes and there was a lot of sneaky channel-changing and hand-slapping before you impulsively switched it to an alternative station that was apparently an acceptable compromise for them both.

Sans occasionally passed chips up to you from you-didn’t-ask-where, and also tried no less than three times to grab your phone out of your hands to look at your map.

The final time had ended with his hand wrapped around most of your face and him offering to be the navigator in your place since you’d gone suddenly, tragically blind—and then Sans recoiling automatically when you licked his metacarpals and Papyrus looking like he wanted to bang his skull against the steering wheel while he muttered, “Children, I’m Driving With Children And A Dog, And The Dog Is The Best Behaved!”

You broke quickly at a gas station for a bathroom break (for you and Buddy) and a snack refuel (for Sans, who purchased a wholly impractical amount of bagged snacks that were then nowhere to be seen), and after just a little more driving, you had arrived.

“Welcome to the beach!” you announced, smiling wider than you probably had in your entire life.

You’d never been to this particular beach before but as soon as you’d seen the pictures online, you knew your trip had to be here.

It was even more scenic in person. The shining sun overhead made the sand gleam and the water glitter, and the ambient sound of crashing waves and distant gulls made it positively idyllic.

 _This_ was the kind of surface-experience your friends deserved.

You turned to see that both Sans and Papyrus were standing totally transfixed by the sight. They probably hadn’t seen anything like this before and you couldn’t imagine the kinds of emotions that would come with seeing so much wide, open water for the very first time.

“Pretty, isn’t it?” you prompted gently.

“Yes,” came the hushed reply from Papyrus. And then much louder, “YES! I Knew It! Sans, I Told You!”

“What?”

Sans shrugged, absently passing Buddy’s leash over to you. “when you’re right, you’re right, Pap, you guessed it.”

“You guessed it?” You frowned. “No, you didn’t, it was a secret! I was careful!”

“Oh, You Were,” Papyrus promised, “But I’m Afraid Your Secret-Keeping Was Just No Match For My Deductive Reasoning!”

“…You’re just trying to look cooler,” you accused. “Like you knew where we were going the whole time.”

“Not The Whole Time! I Wasn’t _Sure_ Until We Started Driving, But I Had My Suspicions For Much Longer. In Fact!”

Papyrus all but tore off his plain, baggy t-shirt to reveal a tank-top underneath with a flowing script that spelled out, ‘Beach Babe.’

“What!” You laughed as Papyrus posed dramatically for you and turned to Sans. “Did you know about th—…”

Your jaw dropped.

Sans had unzipped his hoodie and was just casually standing there, as if he _wasn’t_ wearing a shirt that said ‘Beach Bum’ in blocky letters.

“Oh my god, you’re _matching?!”_ You buried your face in your hands. “Aw man,” you chuckled, “I thought I did so well!”

“You Did!” Papyrus assured you. “Sans Was Totally Clueless The Whole Time!”

“it’s true, i was.”

“If It Makes You Feel Any Better, We Got You A Shirt, Too!”

You watched as Papyrus went to the trunk and rummaged around in a bag before handing you a neatly folded graphic tee. When you unfurled it, you saw that it was exactly your size with a sun on the horizon and a couple of palm trees above the words, ‘Beach, Please!’

“Awww. Okay, that takes the sting out, I guess. Thanks, guys, I love it!”

“You’re Welcome!” Papyrus chirped. “It’s Not Often, But Sans Does _Occasionally_ Have Good Ideas!”

You looked at Sans, who seemed to be pointedly avoiding your gaze. “You picked it?”

Sans rubbed at the back of his neck. “mmm, well, y’don’t have a ‘resting beach face’ so that one seemed better…”

“Good to know you like my face, I guess.” You caught a faint little hint of blue on his cheekbones and it made you smile. He finally looked at you when you gave him a little nudge with your elbow. “Thanks.”

“heh, don’t mention it.”

You had a suspicion he meant that very literally. It was a sweet thing to do, getting you a matching shirt so you wouldn’t feel left out, but for Sans’ sake you’d let it go.

Maybe you’d get lucky and find some other way to get him blushing again before the day was out.

You all took advantage of some ramshackle public stalls to change into swimsuits before going to get set up on the beach proper.

Papyrus, with his considerable flair in fashion, proudly emerged wearing a suit with a jazzy pattern you could’ve sworn you’d seen on a cup somewhere, back in the day.

Sans, on the other hand, came out wearing a fantastically generic little number that you had to pull the price tag off of for him, much to the exasperated tuts of his brother.

“hey, c’mon, like i’m gonna compete with _two_ style-icons?” he’d protested. “forget about it.”

Even as Papyrus had reluctantly agreed that Sans being ‘So Basic’ made you and him look much more stylish than you already were—and you were already very, very stylish people!— you had gone a little red in the cheeks.

Your suit was just your suit, and you were just you, on a big beach with dozens and dozens of humans to compare to. You hardly thought you stood out.

In spite of all the people, though, you’d made good time and gotten there relatively early so you were able to snag a decent spot, laying out towels and setting up a big umbrella for shade and for the cooler you’d brought. There would be plenty of cold drinks and homemade sandwiches later for anyone who wanted one.

For now, though, you had to take care of the most important part of a beach outing (as a human).

“You guys can go ahead and check out the water if you want,” you said, pulling a tube out of your bag. “I have to put on some sunscreen real quick, but I’ll catch up.”

“Good Idea!” Papyrus bent, unclipping Buddy’s leash from his collar and— holy shit, summoning a big magic bone from nowhere. He gave it a short toss straight up to feel out the heft of it and then stood again. “I Think Buddy And I Will Go Play A Quick Game Of Fetch While We Wait For You. Sans?”

Sans was already sprawled out on his towel and soaking up the sun. “sounds like a _fetching_ idea, i’ll hang here.”

“Don’t Start.”

You knew it was coming before Sans even opened his mouth. “sun’s out, puns out, Pap.”

Papyrus immediately turned on his heel and walked away. “Goodbye!” he brusquely told his brother, shooting you a sympathetic, “Good Luck!” before he made for the shoreline with Buddy following after his skeleton friend(’s bone).

You just shook your head and got to work applying the lotion. The last thing you wanted today was to risk some kind of skin cancer.

It was hard to focus just on getting the exposed areas of your skin, though.

You couldn’t help but be hyper-aware that Sans was lying right there next to you in a pair of shorts and that was _all_ , and you wanted nothing more than to get a good look.

 _Curiosity is natural,_ you tried to tell yourself. _He’s a walking skeleton, without joints or muscles, that’s fascinating, of course I want to look!_

At the same time, you knew that wasn’t really it. If that was it, just seeing the brothers come out of the changing rooms in their swimwear would’ve been enough to satisfy your curiosity.

Papyrus was massive, he had plenty of bones on display right now in full range of motion— he was dashing up and down the beach with Buddy right in front of you, an easy opportunity to observe the intricacies of skeleton anatomy.

But you weren’t really all that interested in skeleton anatomy. You were interested in _Sans’_ anatomy.

And he was _right there._

You only hesitated for maybe a few more seconds.

_Screw it._

You turned to look and were more than a little startled to see that Sans was watching _you._

“Oh jeez,” you laughed, a little awkwardly, “I thought you were already asleep.”

His red eye-light didn’t waver. “thought about it,” he said. “seemed like a _tired_ concept.”

You just grinned. You’d have to find some other time to stare at Sans, but oh well.

_C’est la vie._

“Are you sure you’re okay over there in the sun?” you asked, making conversation. “There’s plenty of room under the umbrella. I wouldn’t want you to get…uh…bleached?”

Sans chuckled, folding his arms behind his head. “nah, m’good here. ‘sides, bleaching’s a good thing.”

“Yeah?”

“sure. theoretically, at least, no firsthand experience myself. but all accounts say sun-bleaching is great for bones. lotta skeletons seemed to be pretty pissed about havin’ to switch to peroxide treatments goin’ Underground.”

That got your attention. “ _Are_ there a lot of skeletons? All I know is you guys.”

“yeah, s’just us these days, but i dunno, i guess there used to be more.” Sans didn’t seem particularly concerned by the concept. “back in the old days. the _real_ old days, like pre-War.”

The war between monsters and humans centuries and centuries ago, when monsters had first been locked beneath the earth by humans that hated and feared them.

But that was a dark topic and you didn’t want to go any deeper into it on a beach day.

“So this’ll be a fun experiment, then,” you said. “Getting to see what all the fuss is about with sun-bleaching?”

Sans smiled. “feels nice so far,” he decided and then shot you a look you couldn’t quite decipher. “you really can’t come out in it?”

“I mean, I _can,_ I just have to be careful.” You wiggled your tube of sunblock. “I don’t want to get too many…UV rays or whatever. Sunburn is also a thing.”

Sans seemed a little concerned. “…humans don’t, like… _burn_ -burn, right? you’re not gonna spontaneously combust or anything?”

That surprised a laugh out of you. “No way, no, it’s nothing like that,” you assured him. “Sunburns can get pretty bad, but if you’re careful the worst that happens is the skin gets red and stings a little when you touch it. Sometimes it’ll peel, but that’s usually the worse cases.”

“……it peels? your skin just…peels off? like an onion?”

“I…well, yeah, I guess it’s a little like that.”

Sans looked just a tad sickened. “that’s gross, don’t do that.”

“I’ll do my best?”

“good. don’t want you _flakin’_ on me in the middle of our non-vacation.”

“Doesn’t sound like an a _peel_ ing way to spend it,” you agreed, mimicking his signature wink. It only seemed fair, since you were pretty sure you’d stolen that pun from him.

He laughed anyway and you smiled. Making people laugh was an amazing feeling; you totally understood why Sans had made a career of it at one point in his life.

“guess it’s good ya got layers, though,” he added eventually, reluctantly.

You tilted your head. “Why’s that?”

“well, your bones ain’t gonna hold you up.” He sounded almost offended saying it. “not by themselves, anyway.”

“Leave my bones alone, they’re trying their best!”

Sans snorted. He reached out toward your arm and poked at a knobby part just below your wrist. “that’s your ulna. styloid process of it.” You watched him tap at it with his finger, insistently. “look, it’s the size of my distal.”

Sure enough, his fingertip seemed to be the same size and thickness of that little knob.

You followed his finger with your eyes, trailing up his arm to his collarbone, as far as you dared let your eyes wander while he was watching you look.

 _All_ of his bones were incredibly thick—at least in comparison to yours. They probably had to be to support his entire body without muscle-tissue and only magic to keep everything where it was supposed to be, but you had the thought that he probably wouldn’t look out of place next to a fossil of a small dinosaur.

It was a pretty funny mental image and your amusement gave you a little bit of courage.

Turnabout should be fair play, right? If he was going to be touching you…

You reached out towards him, just a little bit. “Can I…?”

Sans needed a minute to figure out what you were asking. When he did, he sat up and shot you a lazy grin. “yeah, g’head.”

With permission, you let your gaze settle on his bare chest. Your fingers follow a second later, carefully grazing his sternum.

His bones looked to be fused in most places compared to a human skeleton, which was fascinating. They’re just as smooth and soft as his skull was when you’d touched it, and they’re just as thick here as everywhere else; his ribs seeming almost like ladder-rungs to your curious hands.

Just as you start to wonder if he can even feel your touch without nerves, tracing the curve of one of the lower ribs, Sans shivers.

You hesitate, pulling your hand back a little. “Sensitive?”

He doesn’t answer, but he’s looking down and to the left. Nervous.

“Ticklish?” you realize with a smirk.

“please don’t,” he says, almost meekly, and you reach up to give him a gentle pat on the clavicle.

“I won’t,” you promise. Being tickled against your will is the worst. You settle back onto your towel and pick up your sunscreen again to get the last few spots, giving him a little space. “Well, you’re right, you’re definitely sturdier than I am.”

Sans leans back on one arm, the relief in his expression shifting to something a lot like haughtiness. “‘course i am, you got those dainty little bird-bones.”

“Not what I expected at all,” you add, and that makes Sans pause.

“…what’d you expect?”

You try to articulate your thoughts. “Mmm…rougher, maybe? Splintery or something.” You’d touched a chicken bone once and that had been _very_ splintery. “But you’re really soft. More like…porcelain or…or an eggshell.”

“…………”

When Sans didn’t answer, you looked over and your heart thumped a little harder in your chest.

He was the bluest you’d ever seen him. That pretty slate color you loved was darker than ever, migrating from just his cheekbones to his nasal ridge and making his entire skull glow.

You pressed your lips together to keep from reacting audibly: the last thing you wanted to do was make him think you were laughing at him when you really just thought he was the cutest skeleton you’d ever seen.

_Note to self: compliment bones to make Sans blush._

“…th…thanks,” he stuttered out eventually.

“You’re welcome.” You decided to take pity on him and not prolong his shy embarrassment any longer, adorable as it was. “I think I’m good on sunscreen now. You want to go in the water?”

Sans was standing up as soon as he’d processed your question. “ _water_ we waiting for?”

-

Papyrus is delighted when you and Sans join him at the edge of the surf. So is Buddy and he dances around your feet a bit in excitement before settling down and letting you all start walking toward the waves.

Both skeletons jump a little bit the first time the water comes in and destabilizes the sand beneath their feet, but they get the hang of it quickly and keep pace with you.

Buddy is a little unsure, but only at first. He never had any major bath aversions so you figured he’d be fine at this and you were right— he hesitates only a second or two before leaping boldly into the water and swimming along without trouble.

(You give him a little cheer when he does it and Papyrus gives him a quick round of applause. You think Sans came very close to laughing at you for being so excited about a dog doing the doggy-paddle.)

The water isn’t quite warm, but it’s blessedly cool in comparison to the dry heat of the beach so as soon as you’re out far enough to do it, you dive under the surface to wet your face and scalp.

You come back up to find Sans and Papyrus looking at you, impressed.

“We Probably Won’t Be Trying That,” Papyrus admits. “Skeletons Are Many Things, But Buoyant…May Or May Not Be One Of Them!”

“You’re not sure?” you ask, bobbing between them in the gentle waves.

“never tried,” Sans says. “never had any water deep enough to test it before.”

“And Now Seems Like A Terrible Time To Find Out We Can’t Float. A Trip To The Hospital And/Or An Accidental Drowning Death Would Be A Very Upsetting End To An Otherwise Enjoyable Trip!”

“No kidding! You’re okay this far out, though, right?” You check on your companions and find that Sans seems to be submerged to the chest while the water only goes halfway up Papyrus’ spine.

“I Could Probably Go Further,” Papyrus says, like he’s telling you a secret, “But All My Favorite Short People Are Here, So I’ll Stay!”

It occurs to you to be insulted, but you decide not to bother.

Sans, on the other hand, very gently shoves his brother, barely even budging him.

Papyrus retaliates with a splash aimed right at Sans’ face.

And then it’s pretty much a free-for-all.

You spend most of it ducking under the water to avoid roughhousing and deliver splash-attacks of your own when you were least expected. Papyrus fell for it every time, but Sans got wise to you quick and started dodging you no matter what angle you came at him from.

It doesn’t ever go too far because luckily, you’d brought along a little referee in black and white fur and Buddy took it upon himself to bark and swim between anybody he decided was playing too rough.

By the time it settles down, everyone is smiling and enjoying the rhythmic back and forth of the waves, and Papyrus is explaining some of the things he learned in a class about why and how humans are buoyant.

You gather it’s a complicated interaction of factors, including body fat, density, gravity, and even just muscle tension. A lot of the intricacies go over your head, but Sans and Papyrus both seem to know what all the words mean—all you know is that your body knows how to make itself float so you give a little demonstration.

Your friends are very impressed when you’re able to hold your entire body horizontal on the surface of the water for a few moments and you’re pretty proud of yourself for being able to do it.

…at least until a wave catches you by surprise and you unexpectedly go under a bit.

You’re fine, of course: you can swim, you’re not in danger, so mostly you’re just embarrassed when you resurface, sputtering a bit and spitting out water.

“That usually doesn’t happen,” you say a little sheepishly.

You hear Sans laugh and before you entirely know what’s going on, he’s got his hands on your ribs and he’s picking you up, settling you down on his shoulders.

Which was _really_ not making you feel any less flustered. “Umm?!”

His hands wrap around your knees and when he shifts, you automatically brace yourself against the top of his skull. Thankfully, you miss the jagged bit completely.

“should be safer this way,” he tells you, like that explains everything. “none’a those nasty waves are gonna get’cha up there.”

His cheeky tone tells you he’s totally messing with you. It makes it a little easier to ignore how flustered you feel knowing that you literally have Sans’ skull between your thighs.

“I can swim, y’know! I’ve been doing it all day!”

“yeah, so you’re tired, right? take the free ride. let’s be real, this is probably the tallest you’re ever gonna get.”

You open your mouth to say something sassy when Papyrus puts his two cents into the conversation.

“Oh My God, I Think This Is The First Time I’m Seeing Your Eyes. This Must Be So Weird For You, Being Tall! How Do You Feel?”

_Et tu, Papyrus?!_

You know how to handle him, though. “A little _short-_ tempered, honestly!”

Papyrus narrows his eye-sockets at you. “I Didn’t Realize The Bar For Jokes Was Being Set So _Low._ ”

“aw, i thought it was cute,” Sans says, looking up at you. “i think you oughta hand that one to ‘em, Pap.”

“Well, They Certainly Can’t Reach It For Themselves, Can They?”

You start to struggle against Sans’ grip on you. “Put me down!” you demand. “Put me down, I’ll fight you both, you tall bastards!”

Sans was shaking with laughter as he effortlessly swung you down off his shoulders. For a split second, he had you in a bridal carry…

…and then he carelessly dropped you into the water with a big splash.

You resurfaced a moment later only to hear Papyrus warn, “Careful, Sans, I Think All This Swimming Is Making Your Human _Salty!_ ”

You felt you were completely within your rights to start another splashing war.

-

Eventually, you all settle down again and decide to get out of the water.

You head back to your towels and sit to dry off for awhile, you and Buddy in the shade and the skeletons in the sun. You think there was probably some truth to that thing about sun-bleaching being good for bones because your friends both seem a little brighter after lounging in the rays all day; a little happier.

You dig around in your cooler to distribute sandwiches and drinks at one point, and of course set out a bowl and pour some ice-cold water in it for Buddy, as well.

By the time you’re all dry (or at least mostly, in the dog’s case), the sun is starting to get a little lower in the sky and you decide to pack it in, gathering all your things and changing back into your dry clothes.

You leave the shirt you wore on the way in your bag and put on your new, ‘Beach, Please!’ shirt instead. It fits you just right, and in your favorite colors, too.

It really was a thoughtful present and you love it to bits.

Papyrus takes point in re-packing all the supplies— Sans apparently has a tendency to just crumple things into balls and no offense to you, but he has a system and it’s just far more efficient if he does it himself, though your offer to assist is appreciated.

So, you’re sitting with Sans on a big rock formation near the parking lot, trying to towel a little more dampness off of Buddy when Sans awkwardly clears his nonexistent throat.

“so. hey.” Not much of an opener, but he continues. “earlier, uh. when i… picked you up. sorry about that.”

You don’t quite understand. “Why?”

“…it was…rude?” Sans scratches his cheek. “i shoulda asked if it was cool…before i did it. so. m’sorry if i made ya uncomfortable or anything.”

It’s a very sweet sentiment, but you can’t help but laugh. “Don’t worry about it,” you say, bumping him with your elbow. “You touch me all the time, I’d have said something if it bugged me. You’re fine.”

That… doesn’t have quite the comforting effect you’d hoped it would.

Sans’ permanent grin drops into more of a frown. “……all the time?” he echoes. “do i really…?”

“Well… sorta, yeah. You were poking my arm earlier, and you grabbed my face a little in the car. And yesterday you had your hands on my shoulders.”

It seems to you like maybe Sans didn’t realize how physical he’d really been with you. Your tone in listing examples hadn’t been accusatory in the least, and everything you pointed out had been totally acceptable, innocent gestures but he seems kinda nervous all of a sudden.

You can’t be sure, but it looks like he’s sweating a little.

“eheheheh, jeez…” His grin comes back, but it’s tight; forced. “sorry…”

“What for?”

Sans hasn’t given you this look in awhile. The look that said you were a very bizarre human who was making very little sense.

“……y’know,” he said eventually, “big, scary skeleton, grabbin’ on ya, not even askin’, that’s probably not—”

You laugh again, you can’t help it. “Sans, I told you I didn’t mind! It’s not like you’re… some weirdo off the street, we’re friends! You can touch me if you want to, I trust you. Besides,” you added, playfully flinging the wet-dog-towel into Sans’ lap, “you’re like, the least scary guy I know.”

Sans laughed too, but…it seemed a little weak. You feel like you haven’t particularly comforted him, even though he wads up the towel and plops it back onto you the way you expected him to.

You watch him shove his hands into the pockets of his hoodie, looking a little tense… only for his expression to quickly turn into something startled.

“What’s up?” you ask.

Sans pulls a stone out of his pocket and you realize you recognize it. It’s the paperweight you got him the other day.

He seems surprised to see it. “thought i left this at home today,” he says, sounding…almost dismayed.

You realize that he pulled it out of the pocket with the hole in it, now twice-stitched.

_Is he… worried he could’ve lost it?_

“Aww, hey, don’t worry about losing that,” you say, putting a comforting hand on his arm. “I’ll level with you, I bought it at a drugstore on the way over to your place. If I gotta buy you a spare or three, it’s not gonna break the bank for me.”

It takes him a moment to process what you said. You rub his arm a bit in the meantime, hoping it’s conveying your sincerity and maybe helping a little with this weird funk Sans seems to be in all of a sudden.

You don’t quite expect him to start laughing.

Stiffly, at first, but then full-blown, like the funniest thing ever has just occurred to him and laughing is all he can do.

You don’t expect the question he asks you when he gets enough air to breathe, either.

“oh my god, am i your sugar-baby?”

“Pfft, _what?!”_

“i am, aren’t i?” Sans says, like an accusation. “you’re always buyin’ me lunch—”

“You keep swindling me into it, you hustler!”

“—the late night booty calls—”

“We text! And you don’t even _have_ a booty! Your favorite acronym stands for Laughing My Coccyx Off!”

Sans shakes his head. “i always knew people’d want to use me as their own personal arm-candy, but my own friend, i just can’t believe it…”

“……rock candy.”

The ridges above Sans’ eye-sockets crumple in confusion. “what?”

“Rock candy. Arm-candy. I don’t know how to make it work,” you explain. “You’re the comedian, go.”

That apparently wasn’t enough explanation. “what the hell is rock candy???”

“You haven’t seen any yet?” A travesty! “It’s really big sugar on a stick! They put food coloring in it to make it pink and blue and purple and it looks like crystals. Because it is. Sugar crystals.”

Sans needed an extra second to process that, too. “…oh my god, humans are _hilarious.”_

“Oh man, you haven’t even seen chocolate rocks, have you? You’re gonna make me start a list: ‘weird human foods to show Sans.’”

Sans happily takes to the new topic.

You start talking about human candies and foods made to look like other foods, which is apparently the best thing he’s ever heard of. He searches on his phone for every item you name and seems more and more delighted to find that they’re all totally real things.

By the time you’re trying to explain the concept of candy corn and the popular discourse about how it’s neither corn nor _really_ candy (confectioner’s wax, sugar, and corn syrup hardly count, in the opinion of many), you have a confused yet very entertained Sans on your hands instead of a nebulously distressed one.

You count it a victory.

-

At some point on the way back, you fall asleep in the car.

It was a long day, fun but exhausting and you blame that for your inability to stay awake. You guess Papyrus has a pretty good memory or Sans is a decent replacement navigator after all, because nobody wakes you up until you all arrive back at the brothers’ house.

You wake to Sans carefully shaking your shoulder and holding the car door open for you. You step out rubbing your eyes a little and thank him as he hands you your bag.

You wake up _all_ the way when he turns to Papyrus and says, “hey, bro, i got it, i’ll take ‘em home. don’t wait up.”

Don’t wait up.

Don’t wait up?

_Oh my god._

This thing with Sans… you were going to wing it. That was the extent of your plan.

And if you were winging it, a moment…an _opportunity_ like this seems to be just the time to fly or fall.

It doesn’t take you more than a split-second to decide which you’re going to choose.

Sans holds out his hand to you and you take it, letting him pull you in close to his broad body.

“might wanna close your eyes,” he murmurs. “could be bumpy otherwise.”

You take his advice and shut your eyes.

This is it.

Sans is taking you home.

He’s not expected back quickly.

You’re going to make your move.

You’re going to ask Sans out on a date.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The happening continues. ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)
> 
> And if anyone is wondering whether I HAD to include a beach episode, the answer is yes, yes I did. It was very important.
> 
> Update: If you'd like to see what Papyrus' beachwear looked like, feel free to image search 'jazz pattern cup'! :)


	6. Low Tide

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: dissociation, panic attack, non-explicit description of death, murder, and cannibalism, suicidal ideation without intent, see end notes for details.

Sans’ shortcuts are incredible.

He takes just one step forward with you held against him, and when you open your eyes you find that you’re in your living room, just like that.

“That has gotta be _all_ kinds of convenient,” you say, stepping back.

Sans gives you a tired little smirk. “i set alarms for five minutes before i gotta be somewhere.”

“I hate you,” you tell him without an ounce of seriousness as you go to flip on the light.

It’s hard not to be a little jealous of the ability to just roll out of bed, do the bare minimum to get ready, and then just _be_ wherever you had to go.

“hey, not my fault you’re bound by the laws of physics. commuting places is so much extra work, all that waiting around. ugh.”

_Don’t wait up._

You remember abruptly, what he said to Papyrus before you left; you remember what you wanted to do tonight.

“So, uh, you said… did you want to stay over a little?” you ask. “Hang out a little more, or…?”

Sans’ grin falters a bit. “…yeah, i… i did, maybe just for a while. i wanted to… i feel like we gotta talk.”

So he thought so, too. That made you feel a little better, a little less nervous.

“Sure, let me just put my bag down.”

You choose a spot for it, a little out of the way so you don’t trip on it later, but when you straighten up again after bending over there’s a sharp twinge right at the base of your neck. Your hand shoots to it automatically as you wince and rub at it.

_Oof, no more sleeping in cars, always a bad idea._

“you okay?”

You turn and jump a bit to see Sans is right there next to you. He’s just as quiet when he moves as he’s always been, and he’s watching you with a very sweet expression of concern.

“I’m fine,” you promise, “it’s nothing big, I think I just slept on my neck a little weird. It’ll sort itself out eventually.”

Sans doesn’t look reassured. “you sure? ‘cause i could…”

He doesn’t finish the thought out loud, but you see his hand raised, like he wants to help you.

You think of a harlequin romance novel, one you would never admit to having read, with a plucky heroine who offered a massage to the dashing ranch hand who toiled all day long on her daddy’s homestead.

You think of the steamy scene that followed and the purple prose it was painted with, and you quickly banish the thought.

But it might not be a bad idea.

An intimate little massage from your close friend seems like an opportune moment to confess your feelings for him… and hell, it’s not like the crick you’re stuck with is _comfortable._

To Sans, you say, “If you want to give it a shot, I wouldn’t say no.”

He approaches you and you turn, bending your head forward for him. You know it’s coming, so you don’t startle when his rough, dry fingers graze your skin.

You knew there was a size difference, but you feel it keenly now. His hands seem so big as they skim lightly, hesitantly over your neck and shoulders; you think he could probably enclose your entire throat with them if he were so inclined.

Instead, he’s carefully delicate as he feels out the structure of you, so similar and so different to his own.

“where’s it hurt?” he asks and you reach up, guiding his fingers to the right spot.

When Sans finally starts to actually rub your neck, you have to stifle an honest to god moan.

He’s _good_ at this.

He doesn’t dig in too hard or too soft. He puts exactly the right amount of pressure onto your tense and knotted muscles and rubs in deft little circles that have them loosening faster than you’d thought possible.

It feels so incredible that you worry for a second your legs might actually give out from under you.

In fact, you very nearly forget why Sans is doing this for you until his thumb digs in that painful little kink in your neck and you feel a definitive ‘pop.’

You instantly sigh in relief as the pain disappears, your posture relaxing. “Oh man, that was it. Guess something was just out of place. Thanks, Sans, you’re the best.”

Sans doesn’t answer you.

Curious, you turn back around and when you look up at him… you freeze.

His eye-sockets are black. _Both_ of them.

“Sans…?”

His skull tilts down at you, barely but enough that you know he heard you. He still doesn’t say anything and you start to feel like…

Like something’s wrong.

“Sans, are you okay?”

“……i’m fine.”

You know immediately that he isn’t. Sans has _never_ sounded like this before—his tone is flat and blank, almost _dazed,_ like he’s not even there.

“You don’t sound fine,” you say cautiously.

“…i am. i’m fine.”

He’s lying. Or at least he’s not in the right state of mind to give you an accurate answer.

You only know one thing for sure right now, and it’s that Sans is _not_ fine.

The conversation you had with Papyrus in the kitchen comes back to you. You’d all but given your word then and you refuse to go back on it now.

Sans isn’t okay, so you’re going to help.

You reach for him, as slowly and unthreateningly as you can. “Can I touch you?”

Silence is your only response.

You try again. “I’m gonna touch you, Sans, is that okay?”

“………sure.”

You take his hand in both of yours. He doesn’t react, good or bad, so you tug a little trying to lead him over to the couch.

He goes so willingly it’s eerie. His eye-sockets are still dark and he’s practically nonverbal, but he trails after you in slow, disjointed steps like a sleepwalker—or a puppet.

You’re unsettled, especially when you’re so easily able to coax him to sit down. You’ve never known Sans to be quite so… _biddable._ You don’t think you like it.

Despite the growing ball of anxiety in your stomach, you sit down beside him and pull his hand into your lap. “I’m gonna keep holding your hand,” you tell him. You don’t know if this is the right thing to do for him, but you have to do something. “You let me know when you want me to stop.”

He doesn’t say anything, but you don’t think you expected him to.

You sit there for a long time, firmly rubbing at his skeletal hand with your human ones. The only sound is your breathing and your own heartbeat in your ears, and you’re not sure you’ve ever felt quite so useless in your life.

You’re caring less and less about the late hour and giving serious thought to calling Papyrus by the time Sans squeezes your hand back.

Looking up, you’re delighted to see that Sans’ eye-light is back, but your joy is short-lived.

It’s back, but it’s the size of a pinprick. His breathing has gone suddenly choppy, like he can’t get enough air, and he’s sweating bullets while a tremor he can’t seem to control makes his whole body rattle.

“Sans.” He flinches, actually _flinches_ when you say his name. When he turns to you, looking positively stricken, you ask again, “Are you okay?”

He answers you this time.

“ _no,_ ” he bites out, vehement and panicked. “no, god, _f-fuck_ no, i’m not okay! stars, what the h-hell was i thinking, i never s-should’ve touched you!”

He yanks his hand away from you, fisting it in his pant leg instead. You try not to feel hurt because it’s pretty obvious by now that this isn’t even remotely about you, not with the way Sans is curling in on himself and shaking so hard it’s audible.

“What are you talking about?” you ask as gently as you can.

“i…! i c-could’ve…! you…a-almost…”

You’ve never seen Sans so incoherent. You’ve seen him take an extra minute to answer a question or to process something you said, but the stuttering and this obvious struggle to string more than two words together at a time is brand new to you.

You wonder if he sometimes takes awhile to speak because he’s consciously making sure his thoughts come out correctly.

“Sans, can you take a breath for me?”

He shakes his head. At first, you think he’s trying to tell you ‘no,’ but you see him making an effort to breathe deeper, more evenly.

You want to touch him, to hold his hand again or rub his back, but you’re not sure if touching will help or make things worse, so you don’t.

Eventually, Sans seems…steadier.

He doesn’t look good by any stretch of the imagination, still sweaty and noticeably shaken, but he’s not gasping anymore and his bones have stopped sounding like a wind-chime caught in a tornado.

He speaks so quietly you almost miss it.

“…i thought i hurt you.”

“What?”

“for a second,” he explains, “just for a second. i thought i hurt you. i’m sorry.”

“Sans…” You smile a little, hoping to put him at ease. “I’m okay. Everything’s fine. You didn’t hurt me.”

“………i could’ve.”

Your smile drops.

“i _could’ve_ hurt you,” Sans says, colder than you’ve ever heard him. “i could’ve _killed_ you and it would’ve been so _easy._ you have no idea what i’m capable of. you don’t even know me, you don’t know _anything.”_

“Sans… you’re scaring me.”

Those three little words are all it takes to have Sans’ full attention again. The look he gives you is so…

Sad.

“i’m sorry,” he says again. “i never wanted you to be scared of me. but you should be. that’s why… that’s why i wanted to come over tonight. we gotta talk.”

You’re confused. You don’t know what Sans is on about, you don’t understand what’s going on with him right now and you’re completely off your footing and still a little freaked out.

But Sans is your friend above all, so what you say is, “I’m listening.”

“there’s… things, about me,” he starts, deliberately. “things you don’t… that you gotta know. it… it ain’t fair that you don’t. i gotta tell you about… the Underground.”

Your eyes widen and you immediately protest. “Sans, you don’t have to tell me _anything_ about that. Just because we’re friends, it doesn’t mean you owe me something that…” You struggle for the right word. Traumatic? Personal? You settle on, “…private. I’d never ask you to tell me—”

“you wouldn’t,” he agrees, cutting you off. “you don’t know any better. i… trust me, this is important, it’s… this is real vital information you should’ve already had. you _need_ to hear it, i, i should’ve said something a long time ago, an’ i didn’t, that’s on me, i just…wanted…”

Sans trails off for long enough that you gently prompt him to continue. “What did you want?”

“…more time….”

His voice is practically a whisper, tight with pain, and you still don’t understand but he’s hurting and you hate it.

You reach out to him again, going to put your hand on his arm when Sans abruptly shifts, moving out of your range.

“can you… can you go somewhere else, actually?” he asks, timidly but it still hits you like a blow. “this is already gonna be a shit-show, i don’t want…you shouldn’t be this _close._ ”

_Ouch._

But this still isn’t about you, so you swallow the little twinge of hurt and stand from the couch.

There’s an armchair in your living room, a recliner that you’d bought on a whim that didn’t really match anything else in the house, but you liked it anyway. You settled yourself down on its plush cushions, a good few feet away from Sans.

Apparently, it’s far enough. The tense line of Sans’ shoulders relaxes a little bit at the new proximity. “thanks.”

You sit in apprehensive silence for a bit. You watch your friend wring his hands a little in his lap and wonder what he’s thinking of that’s making him frown so deeply.

“…i dunno if i know where to start,” Sans admits eventually.

“Is there a beginning?”

Sans ponders your question. Apparently there must be a beginning, because he starts to talk.

“i had another job Underground,” he says slowly. “one i didn’t tell you about: i was a sentry.”

You’re surprised. Being a sentry, that’s like… guard duty, isn’t it? It doesn’t seem like Sans’ kind of job—and you’re right.

“me and Papyrus both, actually. see, Pap wanted to get into the royal guard, had for years. it was his dream, y’know, and bein’ a sentry was a step closer to makin’ that happen. he kinda… heh, he dragged me into it a little bit.” Sans scratches at his cheek, but he’s smiling a little. “i think he just didn’t want me sittin’ around the house all day by myself when he was gone, so he got me a job, too.”

You smile a little too, and chance your opinion. “That’s so _Papyrus._ ”

“heheheh, yeah. my bro’s so cool.” Sans looks a little calmer talking about his brother; a little lighter. The mention of Papyrus seems to make it a bit easier for him to continue. “i ended up likin’ the job more than i thought i would. the whole thing was sittin’ around, lookin’ out for humans, and it wasn’t like they fell down every day. mostly i just slacked off at my post, took a lotta breaks, had the occasional nap. used my station as a ‘dog stand sometimes, i made a nice little pile of gold on the side doin’ that.”

You want to laugh. “That’s so _you._ ”

Sans grinned. “yeah… bein’ a sentry was fun. ‘til it wasn’t. when things got bad.” He looks at you with an unreadable expression. “how much do you know about what happened?”

You have a bare bones understanding of it—but for the first time in your entire relationship with Sans, you feel like a pun isn’t appropriate.

“I don’t know that much,” you admit, “just what was on the news. A human fell and they were…violent. I know a lot of monsters died because of them, and King Asgore.”

Asgore was a much-respected figure in the monster community, something that hadn’t changed with his death. The former king was always spoken of with admiration and great fondness, and you’d gathered that his loss had been a devastating blow to all of his subjects.

“After he was…gone,” you hedge, trying to err on the side of euphemism regarding the late beloved monarch, “there was a power vacuum? He hadn’t named a successor…and that was when Queen Undyne took the throne.”

You half expect Sans to correct you or tell you where you’d missed a detail or six, but he doesn’t.

“yeah, that’s the gist of it,” he agrees. “‘cept…hmm.” Sans frowns, looking uncertain. “maybe I shouldn’t have started with the sentry part. maybe that human is a better place to…?”

“Wherever you need to start is fine.” You try to sound encouraging. “Tell me about the human.”

“………i saw ‘em. talked to ‘em, even. think i was the first monster they met outside the ruins.”

That’s alarming. That’s _very_ alarming.

The mysterious human who’d made their way through the Underground, haphazardly dusting and sparing the monsters in their path had been the subject of much fear and debate.

The monsters themselves hadn’t been able give an accurate report of how many of their own had fallen in the human’s brief, yet catastrophic reign of terror, all of their proposed numbers uncorroborated and wildly varying—but even the lowest of those casualty estimates was _substantial._

You know without Sans having to tell you that he’s describing a brush with death.

“i wasn’t the first monster they met _ever_ though,” he adds. “couldn’t have been, with all the dust they had on their hands. any monsters livin’ in the ruins sure as hell weren’t livin’ anymore when the human left ‘em.”

“That’s…awful.” It’s probably the understatement of the year, but you don’t think you know the right words to convey your disgust and dismay at having to acknowledge the reality that a member of your own species had attempted a wholesale massacre of the very first intelligent, nonhuman race you’d ever encountered.

Some accounts say the human was only a child. You’re not sure if that makes it better or worse.

Sans keeps talking, though, like you hadn’t said anything at all. “first time i saw ‘em, i knew,” he says. “i _knew_ they were trouble, i _knew_ somethin’ bad was gonna happen…but i didn’t do anything about it.”

He looks guilty as he says it, and that doesn’t sit right with you.

“i think maybe i just thought… i never _saw_ them do anything… an’ they left Papyrus alone, blew right by him like he wasn’t even there. i… i dunno, maybe i was…scared. it’s so easy, y’know? for a human to kill a monster. they don’t have to be big or tough, they just gotta _want_ to and they _can,_ and i ain’t even one of the more durable monsters out there, i’m…”

He doesn’t finish that thought.

“my family was safe. i was in one piece. i didn’t wanna risk that, so i just…kept my head down. did nothin’,” Sans says with a grimace. “maybe if i’d have said somethin’ sooner…”

“Stop.”

Sans looks at you with wide eye-sockets when you cut in so firmly. You hate interrupting him, but…

“You can’t think that way. Trying to take all that responsibility on yourself… that’s not fair, to you or anybody else. The only one to blame for those monsters’ deaths is the human that dusted them. You had nothing to do with that.”

Sans stares at you, apparently surprised by the conviction in your tone. He huffs out a tiny chuckle. “…heh. dunno if i can see it your way,” he admits, “but thanks.”

There’s a single beat of silence.

“undyne couldn’t see it that way, either.”

Now _you’re_ the one surprised. “I didn’t know you were on a first-name basis with the Queen of All Monsters. …or. The _former_ Queen, I guess.”

Sans laughs, and you hear a touch of bitterness in it. “she wasn’t always a queen. when Pap was tryin’ to get into the guard, the two of ‘em actually got to be real good friends.”

“Really?” You have half a mind to ask Sans if he’s messing with you again, but from the nostalgic look in his eye you’re pretty sure he’s telling the truth.

“besties,” he says. “did their workouts together, swapped outfits, made some godawful spaghetti an’ almost burned the house down a stupid amount of times. she hung out at our place a lot, slept over once or twice.”

It’s a hell of a revelation for you, finding out your friends had been close with literal royalty. You’re not sure what to think of the fact that the friend Papyrus had spoken so fondly of learning to cook (badly) with must’ve been Queen Undyne.

“wasn’t too close with her myself,” Sans admits, “but y’know, when somebody’s in your house all hours of the day, you see each other around.” He pauses, seeming to consider something. “i guess technically she was my boss for awhile, but it was never a big thing. it didn’t matter, she was a cool fish.”

“……least she was, up until the human came.”

You can actually see Sans’ mood darkening. The light of his eye is cast down and the shadows beneath it seem to deepen.

“y’see…she didn’t stop ‘em, either. she could’ve,” he tells you. “she _really_ could’ve. before she took the swanky new job bein’ queen, she was the captain of the guard. she’s a fighter, she’s _tough,_ not like…not like me.”

If it were anyone else, you might’ve tried to console Sans and tell him he was plenty tough… But you’ve seen Undyne.

Not in person, of course, but even just in photographs and video clips, the ex-queen is an imposing figure, at least as tall as Papyrus and twice as sharp from her huge shark-teeth to the needle-like spines of her blood-red fins.

You think Sans is probably right: if any monster could’ve stopped the human’s rampage, it would’ve been her.

“but the kid tricked her. played all innocent an’ pulled the wool over her eyes, an’ by the time she saw through it, it was too late. all that was left of ‘em was the dust trail leading out of the barrier.”

It makes you feel sick to think about, how a cruel or, maybe just careless human could wreak such destruction on an entire race.

You wonder if the human responsible ever thinks about the monsters anymore; if they even understood the suffering they’d caused, if they ever wished they could undo it.

“undyne… she didn’t like gettin’ played for a fool. she was so… _mad._ the days right after were the worst. she always had a temper, that wasn’t new, but after the human…” Sans scoffs. “she was mad at _everything._ ”

You don’t think you blame her for that. If somebody made you misjudge them so badly that they killed all your friends and loved ones right under your nose, you think you’d probably be furious beyond words.

“she put on a good act, though. had a real good stoic face for everybody when she took the throne. didn’t want people to panic, i guess.”

Noble, squashing her own feelings for the good of others.

“…‘course it didn’t much matter _what_ face she put on once the food started runnin’ low.”

Oh, no.

You’d been dreading this part since the moment Sans started talking.

The famine.

You knew the basics: the sudden dent in the population after the human left had been nothing to sneeze at. Vital pieces of monster society’s infrastructure were suddenly gone and with everyone grieving and floundering in Asgore’s absence, there’d been just enough turmoil that everything started to fall apart.

And monsters had started to go hungry.

“wasn’t like we were in great shape to begin with. bein’ stuck in a finite cave for hundreds of years doesn’t do wonders for your sustainability. resources had already been runnin’ a little low for awhile, an’ then.” Sans huffs a laugh, but you know he doesn’t think anything about it is funny. “monsters were startin’ to dig around in the dump just so they could eat _something_ by the time the next human fell down.”

You’re tense, literally on the edge of your seat, waiting to hear the rest of this horrible story as your friend tells it.

So naturally, when there’s a long, drawn out silence, you have to ask.

“Sans? You okay?”

Sans looks…frustrated. “nah, i. i think… maybe the sentry thing _was_ the right place to start, i don’t…”

He lets out a noise of irritation, scrubbing a hand over his face. “i’m sorry, can i…start over? again? i…god, fuck, this is hard. most of this happened… y’know, right after…” He gestures toward himself, to the jagged hole in his skull. “it gets…fuzzy in places, i’m sorry, i’m tryin’.”

The pleading, apologetic look he gives you is enough to break your heart.

“It’s okay,” you try to soothe him. You _really_ wish you could touch him, but he wanted you over here for this and you want to respect that. “I’m not in a hurry, you can start as many times as you need to. It’s all fine, take your time.”

Sans looks at you… and then he smiles, just a little, like it makes him sad to do it.

“…you’re too nice.”

You disagree, but you stay quiet and let him gather his thoughts again, getting straight… whatever he needed to get straight in his head.

Sans takes a deep breath and keeps going.

“so. i was a sentry. my station was _way_ back, the farthest you can get before you hit the ruins. i was the first line. when things were good, i didn’t really care. it didn’t matter, wasn’t important… ‘cept then things got bad. i had to start actually doin’ my job. Or Else.”

The emphasis is palpable. You sit a little straighter in your chair.

“when the next human fell… i grabbed ‘em. took ‘em straight to undyne.”

_Oh, no…_

Your heart hurts.

You know the human death toll in the Underground. Everyone does. It was a number bigots touted as their justification for hating monsters so much, but it was a number they’d volunteered on their own when they came above ground, wanting everything to be on the level with the human governments.

Sixteen humans died underground: six by Asgore’s hand before he was killed and the souls he’d gathered were lost, and ten by Undyne’s.

Ten souls were needed to break the barrier and free all of monsterkind, and that was ten humans that Sans—your sweet, gentle Sans—had personally delivered to their deaths.

God, what a weight to bear.

“she was…she was _supposed_ to take the human’s soul and use it to cross the barrier.”

“…What?” This is new information. You didn’t know they could _do_ that.

“if a monster absorbs a human soul,” Sans explains, “they…change. they become powerful enough to do…pretty much anything. it’s unnatural, i never heard of anybody actually doin’ it before…successfully. supposedly it’s impossible to stay in control of it, when ya’ have that kind of transformation, but undyne… she’s headstrong, always has been. if anybody could do it, it was her. she was gonna cross the barrier, come up here an’ get the rest of the souls, an’ then break the barrier from the outside.”

That’s…that’s not what happened. Every human that died was killed Underground, not above.

“So… why didn’t she do it?”

“she wanted to. she tried to. but the second she pulled that human into an encounter…”

Sans presses his knuckles to his teeth, considering his words.

“monsters are made of magic,” he says after a moment. When you seem to be following along with that, he elaborates, “our magic is like…an extension of us. it reacts when we do, instant, no thought behind it. it affects our bodies, our souls…our bullets.”

Sans’ expression is one of anxious sorrow.

“…she was holdin’ it together pretty good on the outside, but inside… undyne was _angry._ ”

“…What happened?”

Sans shakes his head. “her magic was out of control. it… i don’t think it was her fault, but…the human didn’t have a chance. her spears shredded ‘em to pieces on her first turn. it was…it was so bad their soul actually shattered, dissipated into the body. there was nothing left of it for undyne to absorb, just the body and that was useless to us.”

Sans grimaces, looking sick. “…except for one thing.”

You don’t want him to have to say it. It was bad enough he had to do it, so you say it for him. “As food.”

“…yeah,” he reluctantly agrees. “we… nobody wanted to, at first, talked around it in circles for awhile but… we were all startin’ to get desperate by then, and… well, it wasn’t easy, but it was…maybe easi _er_ that once undyne was done with ‘em, they didn’t even look like a person anymore.”

Just torn up meat. The mental image is upsetting and you wonder how many monsters out there share Papyrus’ raw meat trigger.

You think it must be a lot.

“monster food’s imbued with magic. or it was when we actually had it. the amount of magic in a human soul is… it’s a ton, off the charts, actually. a little goes a long way, we all hoped it was a one-time thing and we’d never have to…do that again.”

Knowing already that they all _did,_ at least nine more times makes it so much worse.

“undyne, she…she acted like she meant to do what she did. said she wanted everybody to be ‘healthy an’ able before she took back the surface’ with the next human soul… but i knew. it was an accident.”

“How’d you know?”

“m’pretty good at readin’ people,” Sans says. “always been good at faces, i guess. but mostly i knew because the same thing happened with the next human, too. another soul shattered and unusable. at least we all had something to eat again…”

Sans looks utterly miserable. “i should’ve done somethin’ then, too, an’ i didn’t. i knew she wasn’t doin’ it on purpose, i could’ve said somethin’ or… it would’ve saved everybody a couple more months of starving and suffering if i had, i just, i thought… i thought she’d get _ahold_ of herself, y’know? rein it in and…do what she said she was gonna do, for everybody.”

He sighs and goes back to wringing his hands. You notice that they’re starting to shake. “she didn’t,” he says. “three humans dead, that’s a pattern, and we still… there were no _souls,_ we weren’t any closer to gettin’ free than we were at the start. an’ even with…what we could get out of the bodies…it just, it was never enough, not for _all_ of us. it was… worse all the time, that was life Underground, everyone just miserable an’ scared an’ _desperate,_ constantly awful.”

Sans laughed and it was on the razor-thin edge of hysteria.

“y’know it actually started to get normal? you started to _expect_ it when you heard that somebody you knew had just…died one day. the…the hunger just got to be too much for ‘em and _poof,_ they’re dust. oh well.” Revulsion overtakes his skull. “‘course we ate that, too. the dust. we were that desperate, didn’t matter if it was your best pal or, or your neighbor’s kid, it was edible, it was _something,_ so we did it.”

The tale Sans is weaving for you is utterly horrific, more graphic and distressing than you’d ever dared to imagine. There’s so many little inconsistencies with what you learned about from the media and they’re niggling at you, nagging in the back of your mind that there’s something important there; something that doesn’t quite make sense…

But Sans is still talking, and he has your whole focus.

“it was…it was _bad_ ,” he says. The shaking in his hands is only getting worse and a manic edge starts to creep into his voice. “it was _worse_ than bad, we were, we were _eating_ humans, we were _eating_ each other, we were _wasting_ souls, we…! _somebody_ had to do _something_ …!”

He meets your eye, but only for a second, like he can’t _bear_ your gaze any longer than that.

“i…i couldn’t afford not to care anymore…”

Your stomach drops.

Suddenly, you know.

The pieces are coming together and you _know_ where he’s going with this. You _know_ what Sans is telling you. You feel like there’s a block of ice in your chest, making it cold and tight.

“the next time a human fell… i didn’t take them to undyne.”

Sans voice breaks and he confesses exactly the thing you’d feared.

“i did it myself.”

Your hand covers your mouth so you don’t make a sound, shock and horror at war in your mind with the emphatic wave of _no_ that you instinctively feel.

_No._

Not Sans.

Not _your_ Sans…

“i, i tried to be quick,” he says, his voice trembling as much as his hands. “no encounter, no fight, just… i didn’t…i didn’t want ‘em to suffer. i got the soul. the labs, the royal labs, i knew where they kept the containers for ‘em. i stored it and hid it somewhere it’d be safe, i didn’t… i couldn’t trust undyne anymore and there wasn’t, nobody was _left_ who could handle a soul absorption, we… we were gonna have to do it the long way, break the barrier from the inside.”

Guilt and shame seem to physically weigh on him, hunching his shoulders. “i took the…the body…to Papyrus. my bro, heh, he…he was always the efficient one. i knew if he… he’d make sure we didn’t waste any of it. even without the extra energy from the soul, we all…we all ate real well after that.”

Stars above, your friend… _both_ of your friends, _no._

“i thought for sure undyne was gonna dust me for it… i, what i did, i went behind her back, i undermined her authority, i thought she’d kill me, but she didn’t.” He chuckled and it very nearly sounded like a sob. “she was _happy._ praised us, me and Papyrus both, commended us in front of the whole Underground.”

For doing what she couldn’t do, no doubt.

“she, she even gave us some fancy new titles, to show us off for the ‘good work’ we were doin’ for her. The Queen’s Butchers.” He practically spits the word, like it disgusts him, like it’s physically painful to say it. “that’s what we were, we were _butchers,_ an’ i dragged Pap into that, _i_ made us that.”

This is horrible. Beyond horrible. You actually _can’t_ find the words to speak.

“but what was i gonna do, just stop? hope somebody else would do it for me? i did it again the next time a human fell, and the next time, and the next time, and the time after that. i kept killing humans, every time they fell down, until we had all seven, all seven souls we needed to break the barrier…”

Only seven were necessary. Undyne had taken responsibility for all ten, but only _seven_ of them actually had to die.

“an’ then…it was over! heheh, just like that! we were out, we were on the _surface_ and the _humans,_ ” he scoffed, “the humans didn’t even remember lockin’ us up! an’ when they found out, they were…they were _kind,_ of all the damn things to be! they offered us everything we needed, they gave us food an’ medicine an’ care, everything was finally _good,_ an’ undyne even worked out a deal with your courts to, to go away for all the humans we killed so everything would be square an’ we could all just…live up here, free an’ clear!”

It hardly seems like a good thing, the way Sans tells it. The shaking has spread all the way up to his shoulders and he looks like he’s in real agony.

“i should be able to just…let it go, shouldn’t i?” he asks. “i should, i should pretend none of it ever happened, like i’m, like i’m not a fuckin’ _murderer_ but i, i can’t, it won’t _leave,_ i forget everything else all the damn time but not _this,_ this _sticks._ i, sometimes i look at my hands an’ all i can see is the blood, an’ s-some days i can’t, i can’t even get out of bed in the morning ‘cause all i can feel is this, this _weight_ of what i, i… it’s _crushing_ but it won’t dust me, i want it to, sometimes, i wish i _could_ just dust, but i can’t, i gotta _live_ with this, this…”

He laughs again and this time it _is_ hysterical.

“i used t-to love doin’ nothing, all the time, it was, it was my favorite hobby, y’know? but _now,_ now i can’t even do it, whenever i’m, when there’s n-nobody around and nothin’ for m-me to do to keep from thinkin’, that’s when it all comes _back,_ an’ it’s perfect clarity, crystal clear high definition an’ there’s only one channel. it’s just worse ‘cause i _know,_ i know that no matter how much i t-try, to do better, to, to _help,_ everyone, anyone i can, it, it’s never gonna be _enough,_ i can’t, there’s no way to undo what i did. i’m…i’m a butcher, that’s…that’s all i am, i’m a _butcher…!”_

You can’t listen to this anymore.

You can’t, it’s all too awful, you don't want to hear anymore, you can’t _take_ it.

You stand and the second your feet touch the floor, you’re running.

…straight to Sans.

He locks up when you throw your arms around him, going still as a statue, but you pay it no heed. You put all your energy into squeezing him as tight as you can.

His voice is so, so small when he says, “…i don’t understand…”

“My friend is upset,” you say. You’re choking back so many emotions right now, but you’re firm on that. “I’m giving him a hug.”

“weren’t you listening? your _friend_ is a killer.”

“No.”

“‘no’?” He huffs your name in disbelief and you feel him trying to pull back from you.

You pull back first, but just far enough that you can look him in the eye. You keep your hands on his shoulders, fingers curled in his hoodie. “Did you like it?”

His pupil shrinks faster than you’ve ever seen it change size. _“what?”_ There’s a quiver in his voice, shocked and upset at the question.

“Did you like it?” you repeat. “When you…god, when you…killed those people… did you enjoy it? Would you _ever_ do it again?”

Just as you suspected, Sans looks horrified at the very thought. He can’t even seem to force his voice out all the way, and your answer comes as an emphatic, pained whisper. “no,” he says. _“never.”_

“Then you’re not a killer,” you decide. “That’s…it’s what you _did_ , not who you _are_ , okay? And…” You frown as you consider it. “And it was the right thing to do.”

You think that if Sans’ skull wasn’t quite so fused, his jaw might actually drop _off_ when you say those words.

“ _what_? what… what happened to ‘the one to blame is the one that killed them’? _i_ killed people, _i’m_ to blame!”

“ _You_ had a reason,” you snap, not appreciating your own words being used against Sans—even if _by_ Sans himself. “It’s different!”

He doesn’t respond. It’s like you’ve said something totally inconceivable and all he can do is stare at you.

“Look,” you say, eventually. “There’s…there’s a thing they’re supposed to tell people. Ones who lived through something horrible. You don’t… I don’t think anybody’s ever said it to you, so I’ll say it: everything you did, every choice you made, no matter what the reasons… you survived. So it was right. You can go around in circles for the rest of _forever_ thinking about…about where you messed up or what else you could’ve done to make it different, but this outcome, right here and now… This is the _only_ outcome you can know for sure you’d make it through, so it’s the right one.”

Sans gives you a sour look.. “ya’ think that makes any difference to the people i killed?”

“What about the ones you saved?”

That gives Sans a start. He wasn’t expecting you to say that and you think he’s probably never spent much time on this thought.

You press it.

“God, Sans, taking those souls… you _broke the barrier._ Monsters are on the surface now, that’s _huge,_ you had a big part in that. Every monster who survived long enough to get out, every monster that’s _alive right now_ … that’s on you, too. You can’t forget something that important.”

“………you’re taking this too well,” he accuses. “it was _humans_ i was slaughtering down there. _you’re_ a human.”

“Yeah, I’m a human. So were the people who put you all down there in the first place. So was the one who barged in and killed half of your population and your government. If we’re talking about race, you have _way_ more grounds to kill a human than a human has to even _sneeze_ on a monster, and what you did wasn’t even _about_ vengeance. Whatever monsters did to humans Underground, they did what they had to do to survive—you included.”

You can tell, from his words and the look on his face that he’s only fighting you so hard because he wants what you’re saying to be true.

He wants you not to hate him or be afraid of him, he wouldn’t have looked so scared and resigned before he told you all this if he didn’t.

But he wanted you to know. He said you _needed_ to know, and now you realize why: he couldn’t stand the thought of you saying you trusted him, and that you weren’t afraid when you didn’t have all the facts.

It seems obvious that he expected for you to run in the other direction or kick him out of your house as the best case scenario, but he told you anyway because it wasn’t right for you not to know.

For his honesty, you feel you owe him yours.

“I won’t lie to you, Sans, this is…it’s a lot.” Understatement again, but really, what else could you say? “It’s a lot to…know and to have to think about, and I will, I promise, I’m taking this all very seriously. I might have…questions later, I don’t know what they are yet, but for right now, I… I really don’t think anything changes. Not just because you told me this.”

Sans looks desperately, painfully confused.

You find yourself wanting to kiss the look off his face.

_No, definitely nothing’s changed._

“how?” he asks, like he _has_ to know. “how is it…okay? how _can_ it be okay?”

You think about it. He deserves a thoughtful answer, not just your kneejerk, ‘because it is.’

“…Soldiers come home from war all the time, Sans,” is what you settle on. “The people that care about them… they don’t just ditch them when they find out they had to…make terrible choices to survive. I don’t feel like this is any different.”

Sans…stares at you, for a long, long moment, very seriously.

His pupil looks unusually huge in its socket, almost filling it completely.

For a split second you think you see something in it: a thin ring of blue and gold flashing around the red.

And then he breaks.

You watch it happen, his whole expression just crumples into the most miserable thing you’ve ever seen in your life. There’s grief in his eyes, pain and relief and…and oh, no, _tears._

Sans is crying right in front of you, even his dead eye-socket just silently dripping and you don’t hesitate. Forcefully, you pull him back against you for another embrace.

He doesn’t protest anymore; doesn’t sob or say a word. He just presses his skull against your neck and exhales once, weak and shuddery.

His shoulders shake a little, but he reaches up and hugs you back.

You think… you think he’s on his way back to okay. You hope he is.

Whatever Sans said about not being a tough monster, he’s still a big one and very strong compared to you. When he wraps his arms around you and squeezes back, you’re pulled forward and up off the floor, leaving you to perch yourself awkwardly and none too comfortably in his lap.

You don’t know if he’s ever let himself have this kind of release before, though, and the last thing you want to do is interrupt it, so you don’t try to rearrange yourself or complain. You just hold him, stroking slowly up and down his spine and making soothing noises while your shoulder gets wetter and wetter.

At some point, though, you find you _have_ to speak.

“You were wrong, you know. When you said I didn’t know you.”

Sans sniffles a little. When he pulls back enough to see you, he looks at you like… god, like you could damn him or save him in a single word.

You make sure yours are good.

“I know who you are,” you tell him. “You’re a cheesy goober who likes greasy burgers and terrible jokes. You do the silliest shit just to make one person smile, like picking out a matching t-shirt or adopting a whole damn _dog._ You’re the kind of guy who wouldn’t hurt so much as a fly unless it was _literally_ the end of the world. And I…I really care about you.”

You want to kiss him again. You want it so much and in the end, you can’t resist.

You lean in and press your lips to his cheek, the gentlest, most heartfelt smooch you think you’ve ever given.

“You’re not evil, Sans,” you say firmly, with all the certainty you have in your soul. But…you want to see him smile again, too, so you playfully add, “You’re chaotic neutral at worst.”

By the volume of his snort and the way he claps a hand over his mouth, even as he starts to chuckle, you think his own laugh surprised him.

His skull is still tear-stained and there’s some shadows beneath his eye-sockets that haven’t gone away, but he’s laughing and it’s _real_ and that’s all that matters to you.

You laugh with him.

By the time it dies down, Sans seem to abruptly become aware of your position—obviously uncomfortable—and the fact that he’s still hugging you like… well, like you’re his own personal teddy-bear.

He goes considerably blue in the face.

“ah, jeez, sorry,” he says, adorably bashful as always. His arms start to loosen around you. “i’ll just…”

You don’t _really_ want him to go anywhere, though, so you follow your impulses again. They’ve always done you justice when it comes to Sans.

“Hey, I meant what I said earlier.” In case he forgot, you remind him. “I still trust you, and I don’t mind if you want to touch me. If you’re not…all the way done hugging yet, I’d just want to get myself on the actual couch. It’s a little squishier than your femurs—no offense.”

Sans looks at you with a little hesitance and a lot of hope. He must decide you’re telling the truth because he picks you up entirely and sets you back down next to him on your couch before coming back in for the hug.

“it’s too late,” he says above your head. “i’m _very_ offended. we skeletons pride ourselves on being soft and cuddly.”

You snort a little and get comfortable. “Do you, now?”

“yeah, ask anyone.” The doubt in your silence must be palpable, because he adds, “okay, ask Papyrus. he’ll back me up.”

“I’m starting to think Papyrus would back you up if you said the moon was made of cheese.”

“am I really that _swiss_ picious?”

With a some twisting and some awkward wriggling to briefly get an arm free, you manage to reach up and give him a tap right on his nasal ridge. “Well, you _are_ full of holes.”

He giggles.

There’s no other word to describe his laugh, it’s a giggle; a little tired and a little punch-drunk, but absolutely precious.

You want to kiss him again, and _not_ on the cheek…but another time, maybe.

After awhile, you end up leaned against the arm of your couch while Sans uses your belly as a pillow.

Either you were a _really_ great pillow, Sans was _very_ tired, or both, because he seems to fall asleep on you without any trouble.

That leaves you pretty thoroughly stuck with his massive body blanketing your entire lower half. Lying on the couch like this is probably not any better for your neck than sleeping in the car, but you know there’s no way to squirm your way out of this without waking Sans up, and you really want to let him sleep.

Besides, it’s not like you actually _want_ to go anywhere else right now.

While you sit there, trapped beneath a snoring skeleton, you have nothing to do but think.

You had wanted to take this evening in a _very_ different direction…but you feel like the question you had can wait.

Sans had a lot he needed to get off his chest. As much as you hate what he had to do, and the circumstances that made him suffer so badly, you’re also glad beyond words that he told you about it.

Everything that Sans thought was bad and unredeemable about himself is all out in the open now and you got the chance to make your position clear: you’re not going anywhere.

You don’t think your feelings are, either, but… two big confessions in one night seems like a little much.

More than anything, you feel that Sans _really_ needs his friend right now.

Content with that, you busy your hands petting the smooth bone of Sans’ skull until you drift off to sleep, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Sans has a short dissociative episode followed by a panic attack NOT described from his POV. He then details what really happened Underground, where driven by hunger and desperation monsters killed and ate any human that fell and even ate other monsters. Sans himself is responsible for seven deaths and is so guilty and traumatized from having to do it that he makes a brief allusion to the fact that he sometimes wishes he were dead.
> 
> -
> 
> This chapter was a long time coming. It was actually the first scene I had fully fleshed out in my head before I even started writing this. To anyone who's been wondering how my version of HT holds up to the canon and to other versions of HT, this all should answer your questions! Or at least most of them.
> 
> And to anyone who came here for fluff and is undoubtedly feeling very betrayed right now, please rest assured that we're back to sunshine and rainbows pretty much immediately after this little angsty detour. I just couldn't have the reader starting up a relationship when Sans has such a big skeleton in his closet-- himself!
> 
> But he's said everything he needed to say, now, and you're still here, still feeling those squishy romantic feels for him after it all!
> 
> (It seems like he even Checked you, just to be sure. I wonder what he saw. ( ͡~ ͜ʖ ͡°) )
> 
> As a sidenote, Undyne is not The Bad Guy of this story. Neither is The Fallen Human. They both did extremely bad things in the context of the story, but I don't want to try and pin that kind of label on either of them. The only real bad guy this particular story has is a heaping helping of post-traumatic stress and survivor's guilt, but I can 100% guarantee that there will be a happy ending so if you're worried about that, don't be!
> 
> Thanks for reading, commenting, and giving kudos! You're all the best!


	7. Hope

Sans is gone when you wake up.

It’s the sunlight that eventually stirs you, leaking in through the not-properly-closed blinds. Otherwise, you think you might’ve been able to sleep in much longer with the way _someone_ had scooched you down on the couch where you found yourself to be very comfortable, especially with the fuzzy couch-blanket pulled over your shoulders and a decorative cushion wedged beneath your head.

_Sans, you big marshmallow…_

You wish he were still here for you to thank in person, but you think you get why he isn’t. Either he wants to give you some space to think things over, or he’s just a teensy-tiny bit embarrassed that he got emotional in front of you and is feeling a little shy about it.

Knowing Sans, you think it’s probably some combination of the two.

Still, you’d feel better knowing he’s okay, so you grope at your pocket for your phone and shoot him a text.

 **You:** Thanks for tucking me in! You good?

It’s early, according to your phone’s clock. Sans isn’t usually active during these hours—not on weekends or days off, anyway—but he only takes a couple minutes to respond.

 **PUNbelievable:** np, i’m good.

The little ‘ok hand’ emoji he tacks on the end of it makes you smile. You decide to leave him alone for a bit now that you know he’s alright.

Taking a good, long stretch, you suppose you might as well get up.

There’s nowhere you need to be today and nothing you need to do, so you don’t feel too terribly guilty designating a Lazy Sunday for yourself. You certainly have some shows you’ve been meaning to catch up on and a surplus of fancy tea you’d gotten as a gift and never gotten around to trying.

Binge-watching, a warm drink, and no responsibilities to drag your butt back off the couch for sounds like an ideal way to spend the day.

That’s pretty much exactly what you do.

In the back of your mind, even as you watch people bake things you’d never heard of in your life in fantastical shapes and configurations that would never occur to you in riveted fascination, you’re still thinking about Sans.

And what he told you.

You’re fairly certain you know what your feelings are. His…confession, that was the only word for it, his confession was…pretty thorough, honest to the point of being raw. You don’t think you have any questions about _what_ happened, or even _why._

You think you just…really wish that it hadn’t happened at all.

The way Sans spoke about it and the harsh judgment he seemed to pass on himself for his survival, you can tell that Sans is the type of guy who has a very strong moral center. For him to have to go against his own beliefs to get through what happened, and to make sure his brother got through it with him… it’s obvious that having to make that choice broke him a little. Maybe more than a little.

Truthfully… you think it makes you a little angry. Upset, naturally, but angry, too.

It’s not _fair._

No one deserved what happened Underground. It was a living nightmare for…well, anyone who did, actually, live it.

But to you, it really feels that Sans got the short end of an already-short stick.

Why should the sweetest, gentlest goofball you know have to be pushed into the grisly role of an executioner?

You think there’s probably no good answer to that question. Any monster who’d borne that mantle would be suffering by now under the weight of it. Sans being the one who actually took it on was really just…

Rotten luck.

Rotten luck, and probably Sans’ overdeveloped sense of altruism. You think you’ve known for awhile that if there was a chance to make someone else happy, even if it made himself miserable, Sans would take it every time and consider it a worthy cause.

By the time you’re setting your Monday morning alarm and settling into bed for the night, you feel like you’ve reached an acceptable conclusion.

Thank god Sans has you around to look out for him from now on.

-

You don’t see Sans at the shelter the next day, either.

You still don’t really know his schedule, or if he even actually has one, but you were kind of under the impression that he was meant to be in today.

You spare a hand in the middle of doggie breakfast delivery—somehow—to text him again.

 **You:** Thought you were coming in today, is everything cool?

The response doesn’t come for awhile, which is just as well because you didn’t really have a long enough breather to even check for one until an hour later. The time-stamp tells you that you only missed it by four minutes.

 **PUNbelievable:** yeah, it’s good, missed my alarm so i went back to bed. the boss is cool with it.

You have to bite back your automatic response. You just walked into the cat room and you know they wouldn’t appreciate a loud bray of obnoxious laughter from the intruding human.

 **You:** Wait a minute, is that seriously how it works for you? You just wander into work whenever you happen to NOT oversleep?

 **PUNbelievable:** jealous?

Of literally just being able to come in whenever you feel like it, without even having to call in and ask for the day off?

 **You:** Yeah, a little!

 **PUNbelievable:** hey, at least they pay you money. i don’t even work for peanuts.

You can see the set-up a mile away…but you swing for it, anyway.

 **You:** I guess you’re right, that is nut quite fair. I’ll bring a bag for you, my treat, as usual.

 **PUNbelievable:** oh, pe-can you? that’d be cracking.

Sans is the worst. He’s actually the worst.

You send him an eye-roll emoji, and he sends you a winky face that you pointedly ignore, shoving your phone in your pocket and getting back to your actual job.

If he can be _that_ snappy with his punning, you figure Sans is doing just fine.

You pretty quickly notice that one of the cats—a white Persian with entirely too much fluff—seems to be struggling with a nasty tangle that her tongue just isn’t cutting. She notices you watching her try to groom it and mews loudly.

You know a cry for help when you hear one and pull her out to give her a good brushing.

You spend several long minutes gently working out the knot she’d made and cooing praise at her for holding still and letting you do it.

By the time she’s all good to go and you’ve put her back where she belongs, though, your phone starts to buzz in your pocket. It’s not the short buzz for a text alert, but the long ones that mean your phone is actually receiving a call.

You’re pretty surprised: Sans is a die-hard texter, he’s never _called_ you before…

…and it turns out, he still hasn’t.

Your vibrating phone displays the name, ‘PAPaya’ on its screen.

“Hello?” You’re at work, but you think you have time for a quick call. Papyrus would never hold you up long.

 _“Hello, Human Friend!”_ he greets you cheerfully. _“I Know You’re Working And I Hate To Interrupt—”_

Called it.

_“—But I Thought That Maybe We Could Meet Up Today! It’s Lovely Out And I’m Sure Our Usual Park Looks Wonderful, It Seems A Shame Not To Enjoy The Weather While It Lasts. What Do You Think?”_

You think it sounds great. You love your little hangouts with Papyrus and Buddy and he’s absolutely right, it’s a very nice day out today!

“Sure, I’d love to,” you say. “I can head over as soon as I take lunch, I usually clock out—”

 _“Oh, I Know When You Go To Lunch,”_ Papyrus quickly cuts in. _“Sans Told Me Your Usual Time! I’ll Meet You At The Park Then-Ish!”_

And with that, you’re summarily hung up on.

You’re not offended, knowing Papyrus’ succinct nature by now. Mostly, you’re just excited: a little outdoor interlude with one of your best monster-friends and your absolute best dog-friend sounds like a very nice way to break up your day!

The only thing better would be getting to go to lunch with Sans. Even when he cons you into paying for him, your food’s never tasted better than when you’ve got his eager red eye-light watching you while he waits for your reaction to his jokes, each somehow cheesier than the last…

But you’ve got a couple more tasks you think you can squeeze in before your break, so you hop right to it.

No time like the present!

-

It’s not until you’re actually _at_ the park that you realize you’ve been very cleverly duped.

Papyrus is there waiting for you, on your usual bench, but he’s alone with no dog in sight.

He’d never actually _said_ Buddy was coming.

You approach the bench anyway and give Papyrus a chagrined little smile. “So… I’m guessing this isn’t one of our usual doggy-dates.”

“That Would Be Hard To Pull Off Without The Dog,” Papyrus admits. “Will You Sit? I Think You’d Agree We Have Something To Discuss.”

You hear an echo of Sans in your head, saying _‘we gotta talk.’_ You know what this is about without having to ask.

“If you want to talk, I’m here,” you say and sit down next to the massive skeleton on the bench.

Papyrus seems a little relieved by the gesture. He smiles at you…and then pauses.

“Before We Start In On Any Potential…Unpleasantness… I’m Not Keeping You From Eating, Am I? I Know This Is Your Lunch Break…”

“I’m good,” you assure him. “I brought a sandwich today and ate it before I left.”

Papyrus himself was actually the reason for your forethought. His harping on your unhealthy food choices had kind of made you want to do better, so lately you’d been trying to make your own simple, hard-to-screw-up lunches from time to time and bringing them to work. That way, you’d already have something available to eat on the days you didn’t go out with Sans.

(Those days, you still ended up at your favorite greasy spoon and shamelessly indulged all your cravings, knowing you couldn’t possibly compare to your garbage disposal of a companion. But Papyrus didn’t need to know that part.)

“That’s Great! I’m Very Proud Of You!”

_Yeah, he definitely doesn’t need to know the other part._

“Now, You’re An Intelligent Human, I Can Tell You Already Know What This Is About.”

“Pretty sure, yeah.”

Papyrus nods. “I’m Here Because Sans Let It Slip That He ‘Told You Everything,’ But Really… That’s Such A Sans-Answer, Classically Vague! I Can’t Be Satisfied With That, I Need To Hear It From You: What Did He Tell You?”

The last thing you want to do is go too far into detail. You decide to sum up.

“He told me about…what the famine was like. About Undyne and…” You realize you’re in a public space right now, surrounded by passing humans that could overhear. Just to be safe, you err on the side of discretion. “…how it was supposed to be seven instead of ten. He told me his hand in it.”

You frown as you recall a detail Sans mentioned. It’s been weighing on you since he said it, but you don’t think you could ever bring it up to him again; not for the world.

You ask Papyrus instead. “Did…did the Queen really call you _‘butchers’_?”

“Yes. It’s What We Were.” Papyrus’ tone is calm and matter of fact, unaffected. He must have heard the upset in yours, though, because he frowns a little, too. “Did Sans… He Mentioned That Part Specifically? Did He Say It Bothered Him?”

You see a flash of Sans in your mind’s eye for a moment. You don’t think you’ll ever forget that scrunched expression of agony on his face as he tried to tell you that his ‘title’ was all he was, or how much it made your heart hurt.

“Not in so many words,” you say, “but I didn’t exactly get the sense he was fond of it.”

Papyrus looks thoughtful. “Hm. I Never Knew That. He Never Said… _I_ Always Liked It,” he admits, to your surprise. “I Think Maybe It Made…What We Were Doing…Feel More…Legitimate, Perhaps? Less Objectionable? Butchers, They…Their Job Is To Dress Meat And Distribute It To People. That’s What We Were Doing.”

You hadn’t thought of it that way. It was obvious that Sans didn’t think of it that way, either, but if Papyrus could draw some sort of comfort from the title, you guessed it must not have been _all_ bad.

(You’d never like it, though. It was a word that had made Sans feel dirty and irredeemable. You don’t think you’ll ever say it out loud again as long as you live.)

“In Any Case, It Sounder Nicer Than ‘Royally-Sanctioned Corpse Dismemberers,’” Papyrus said, almost hilariously blasé about it, “But I Suppose Sans Has Always Been The Sensitive One. Thank You For Telling Me! Not That We Talk About The Underground Much, Or At All, But Forewarned Is Forearmed!”

You agree with the sentiment. You’ve heard a lot of things lately that you’re glad to know for the future, even if they’re insanely personal and upsetting.

Papyrus allows only a brief moment of silence before he speaks again. He sounds…low, almost forlorn as asks, “Do You…Think Less Of Us, Now? Knowing What You Know…”

You don’t hesitate for a second. “No. Not even a little.”

Papyrus tilts his skull at you, looking surprised yet hopeful. “Really?”

“Really,” you promise. “It sounds like…from what Sans said… it was a desperate situation down there. You all had to make hard choices, I get that. All that matters to me is that you came out of it alive.”

“Wowie, You _Did_ Take It Well,” Papyrus murmurs. “No Reservations At All About Being Friends With Two Skeletons Who Killed And Ate People Just Like You?”

Papyrus is far more frank than his brother. You try to be just as forthright.

“The species thing doesn’t faze me,” you say. “ _Humans_ eat humans when things get like they were Underground, and anybody can kill anybody; anytime, anyplace. The good ones just find another way as long as there _is_ one—and you and Sans are definitely good ones.”

Papyrus looks very touched by your words, but you don’t think you’re quite finished.

“Honestly, I have to say, I’m so, so proud of _both_ you, now that I’ve thought about it. You go through…all of _that_ Underground and get up here where pretty much everybody you meet has had it so much easier in comparison, but instead of being…I don’t know, bitter or jaded, you both just jump right in and start _helping._ Sans helps me take care of the most down-on-their-luck little critters we can find without even being paid, and you…!” You gently shove Papyrus’ arm. “You’re gonna be a nurse, that’s going to save _so_ many lives! You’re incredible, Pap, I hope you know that.”

Papyrus flushes a little, that cute denim-blue that isn’t _quite_ as cute as Sans’ blush, but hardly anything to sneeze at. If he had cheeks instead of just cheekbones, you think you’d try to pinch them.

“Thank You!” he says, sounding just a tad flustered. “I’m! Very Glad That You Still Want To Be My Friend! And Your Validation Is Appreciated, Too!”

You smile up at him. “Anytime, Papyrus. I mean that!”

He twiddles his fingers a bit, avoiding eye-contact. “You Know, I…At First I Only Started Going To School Because… Well, I Think I Wanted To Balance The Scales, So To Speak. However Unpleasantly Gained, I Had A Considerable Base Knowledge Of Human Anatomy And I’d Hoped That If I Could Use It In A More Positive Way, It Might Make Up For…”

Papyrus doesn’t finish the thought, but you know what he means.

“But! It’s Not Only For That, Now. I’ve Always Wanted To Help People, To, Oh,” he flounders a bit, “What Is That Thing You Humans Say About Law Enforcement? ‘Protect And Serve’? The Royal Guard Is Disbanded And I Don’t Think Your Police Or Military Are The Right Fit For Me, I’ve Never Really Cared Much About Rules And Regulations, But! Saving Lives, Knowing How To Fix A Broken Body Or At Least How To Ease Its Passing…”

He grins, looking passionate; _inspired._

“Now _That_ Feels Like It’s For Me!”

You’re feeling a little inspired yourself, just looking at him.

_What a sweetheart!_

Papyrus is practically an angel. You’ve never been a violent person, but you think you would throw down without hesitation if anyone so much as said a word against this precious friend of yours.

Something…concerning occurs to you, though. As a nurse, Papyrus would be subjected to some pretty graphic stuff: surgeries, opened bodies, _blood…_

“Hey, are you…” You consider your phrasing. “Not to suggest you can’t…handle… But are you…gonna be okay?”

 _Kudos,_ you think to yourself, _I’m sure he knew **exactly** what the hell you’re trying to say._

Papyrus surprises you, though, by seeming to understand your weird, disjointed question perfectly. He waves away your concerns.

“Not To Worry,” he says, “I Had The Very Same Thought! I Tested Myself Before I Even Started Attending Classes. I, Er… _Sat In_ On A Surgery, Just To See If I Had A Reaction, And I Was Perfectly Fine!”

That’s a relief.

“I Think The Presence Of The Soul Has Something To Do With My Triggers,” Papyrus confides. “I Can Handle Some Pretty Grody Stuff As Long As I Can Tell The Person Attached To All That Viscera Is Still Alive! Since I Figured That Out, I Was Able To Work With My Advisor On Avoiding Cutting Open Any Actual Human Corpses In My Course Of Studies. I’ll Only Be Working With Dummy Cadavers When Those Sorts Of Requirements Come Up.”

“That’s good, I’m glad you found a way around it.”

“Of Course, I _May_ Have An Issue In The Event That A Patient Dies On The Table In the Middle Of Surgery,” he adds reluctantly. “But I’ve Read Up On The Statistics—It Turns Out Most Surgery-Related Deaths Happen _Post-_ Op. But Even If It Happens Anyway, That I Happen To See Something Triggering, I Feel Confident In My Ability To Remove Myself From The Situation Safely For All Parties, Myself Included.”

“As long as you’re taking care of yourself,” you agree. “I think you’re gonna be a great nurse, Papyrus.”

He smiles at you, clearly flattered.

But you’re rewinding in your head, just a bit and…

“Wait, hang on, _how_ did you manage to sit in on a surgery?” You can’t quite get past that part. “It was before you were even going to school. What, did they just…let you in?”

Papyrus looks…decidedly shifty.

“The Surgeon And Staff…May Possibly Have Not Been Aware Of My Presence,” he eventually admits.

You just raise your eyebrows and _look_ at him. A skeleton, to say nothing of one as big as _two_ of you stacked on top of each other, seems like a pretty tough thing to just _overlook._

“Oh, Don’t Get All Nosy,” he chides you. “Sans Has His Ways And I Have Mine! You Don’t Pester _Sans_ About Logistics!”

He’s not subtle about his deflecting, but you decide to let it go. Your friend is allowed his little secrets.

But you do have to laugh a bit. “Look at _you,_ Pap,” you tease, “all weird and clandestine. And here I thought Sans was the mysterious one.”

Papyrus scoffs like you’d deeply offended him. “The Only Thing ‘Mysterious’ About Sans Is Why He Can’t Pick Up His Socks!”

That has you laughing harder and Papyrus happily joins in with his bright, ‘Nyeh-Heh-Heh!’

It makes it all the more startling when Papyrus swings the conversation back around to serious.

“Of Course, I Did Have A Purpose Calling You Here Beyond Getting To Talk To My Cool Friend,” he says. “I Need Your Word That You Won’t Tell A Single Soul About What Sans Told You.”

You’re almost taken aback and start to answer on autopilot. “God, Papyrus, of _course_ I wouldn’t tell anyone, that was a private conversation—”

“It Was More Than Private,” Papyrus interrupts. “The Information You Have Right Now Is Literally Classified. No Human Is Meant To Know What You Do.”

Papyrus sounds so… _stern_ as he says it. You’re not sure you’ve ever heard that tone out of him before and it gives you pause. “‘Classified’…?”

“The Peace Agreement That Undyne Drafted With Your Human Governments: It’s Based Quite Strongly In Her Owning Up To Those Ten Humans Whose Deaths _She_ Caused. She Serves Out Her Sentence And Humanity Calls It Justice Done, For Everything.” Leading you, Papyrus concludes, “If It Were To Get Out That There Was Another Monster Responsible, One Who’d Gone Free…”

It clicks. With a swooping feeling of alarm, you finally get it.

“Oh stars, _that’s_ why Sans can’t go to therapy…”

Papyrus nods. “Any Useful Kind Of Therapy Would Require Him To Talk About What Happened. If He Did, There’s A Strong Chance The Therapist Might Feel Obligated To Report It. It Could Overturn Undyne’s Conviction And Spark Who Knows _What_ Sort Of Social Unrest Between Our Races.” Papyrus places a hand on your shoulder, utterly gentle as he tells you, beseeching, “Monsters Are Tired. We Just Want Peace.”

Wide-eyed, feeling shaken, you can do nothing but agree. “I understand. I swear, Papyrus, _no one_ will hear about that from me.”

He searches your face for a long moment…but he seems to find what he’s looking for.

“I Thought So,” he says. “You’re A Good Human.”

Coming from him, it’s a hell of an endorsement. You’re flattered beyond the telling of it, to be trusted by Sans _and_ Papyrus with a secret even bigger than you’d thought it was.

You’d never tell a soul as long as you lived.

“It’s A Difficult Thing To Have To Keep In Confidence,” he admits. “Sans Doesn’t Get To Have Access To The Same Resources As Any Other Monster, Even Though He’s Arguably One Of The Ones Who Needs Them Most. Even _I_ Have To Lie A Little To My Own Therapist! I Have To Pretend That It’s _Undyne_ I’m Worried About Dealing Poorly With What ‘She’ Had To Do. It’s Not Easy Working Through Your Own Psychological Traumas _And_ Trying To Keep All Your Lies Straight About Making Your Brother Out To Be Your Jailed Friend Instead Of Himself!”

You can see the distress creeping into his expression, so you angle the conversation in the only other direction you can without being out of left field. “You’re still friends with Undyne?”

By the grateful little grin he shoots you, you’re pretty sure Papyrus knows what you’re doing, but he takes the out.

“I Am!” he says brightly. “I Visit Her Pretty Regularly. The Place She’s Incarcerated In Is Actually Quite Nice. I Was Definitely Expecting More Of A Dungeon, But Everything Is So Clean And Well Lit.”

White-collar prison, probably minimum security. Not surprising for a diplomatic prisoner from a peaceful race, even one who had a (considerably exaggerated) body-count.

“I’ve Taken A Few Tours Of The Facilities By Now, So I Have Plenty Of Possibly Illegally Obtained Pictures If You’d Like To See!”

“…Why more than one tour?” you wonder.

“Oh, Well, Undyne Doesn’t Want To See Me _Every_ Time I Visit,” Papyrus says casually. “I Think The Staff Feel Sorry For Me When That Happens, So They Just Offer Me A Tour. I Don’t Mind, Though, I _Love_ Doing Things I Probably Shouldn’t And Getting Away With It Because They Think I’m Cute And Don’t Know Any Better!”

You snort a little. Papyrus is such a _weasel_ …but it makes you a little sad, too, to think about Papyrus going so far to be able to see his friend and getting turned away.

“Why wouldn’t Undyne want to see you?” you ask. “You’re a delight!”

“I Agree!” he says. “But If I Had To Guess, I’d Say It’s Probably The Same Reason She Went To Jail For My Brother In The First Place. I Think She Feels Guilty.”

You’re…not quite sure you understand. “What, for not being able to…get the seven herself? That wasn’t her fault, at least not the way Sans told it.”

Papyrus seems to noticeably pause.

He squints at you, like he’s working something out, and then he sighs.

“Oh My God, I Knew It. I Knew Sans Would Leave _Something_ Out, He Is A _Master_ At Cutting Corners, It Would Really Be Impressive If It Weren’t So Annoying!”

Your brow creases in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“Don’t Worry,” Papyrus says, “ _I_ Happen To Be A Master At Picking Up The Slack For My Brother: I’ll Fill You In On The Bit He Forgot!”

You try to keep the sudden surge of concern off your face. Sans’ story of the Underground had been almost unspeakably horrific, so very hard to listen to…and he’d _forgotten_ a piece of it?

You were a little scared to hear what Papyrus was going to say.

“After Undyne Took Over,” he tells you, “Things Were _Great_ At First! Being Friends With The New Queen Had Its Perks And Thanks To Good Old-Fashioned Nepotism, I Was Appointed To ‘The Most Important Royal Position’!” Confiding in you, he concedes, “Honestly, It Didn’t Mean Much Of Anything, As A Title, Mostly I Just Stood Around And Looked Cute, But It Was Nice To Feel Cool And Important For Awhile!”

You have no doubt it was a job that Papyrus excelled at, while he had it.

“When Things Started Getting Harder And Everyone Was Upset All The Time, Though… I Think I Liked It A Little Less. I Was Just Being A Figurehead, But I Wanted To Do More, I Wanted To Help!”

God, of course he did. The Papyrus you knew was never one to enjoy being idle when there was something to be done.

“Undyne Was…Frustrated, Often. She Bottled A Lot Of Things Up.” Papyrus shakes his head a little. “You See, She’d Lost Some…Very Important People To Her, When That Human Came, And She Wasn’t Really Handling It Well At The Time. Or At All, Really! She Actually Wanted To Wage War Against All Of Humanity Once We Got Up Here, Isn’t That Funny?”

Your eyebrows shoot up, your sudden shock probably plain as day across your face. “War?!” you say in a hushed exclamation. “I…I never heard anything about _that_ before! I thought… they made it seem like monsters only ever wanted peace with humanity…”

Papyrus is positively beaming at you. “We Do! I Talked Her Around!” He seems quite proud of himself for the feat and explains, “She Didn’t Really Agree With Me Until We Actually Got Up To The Surface, But It Made A Lot Less Sense To Try To Go To War When Our Numbers Were So Small And The Humans Were Being So Nice. It Was Something We Had…Discussed…Fairly Often Underground.”

You hear the not-quite-spoken euphemism in the word. “‘Discussed’?”

“Argued,” Papyrus corrects. “Loudly. Pretty Much All The Time.” He sighs. “It’s Possible I Was…A Tad Too Persistent About It. In Retrospect, She Had So Much To Deal With Already—She Was Grieving Some Very Big Losses In Her Life On Top Of Trying To Run A Kingdom That Was Falling Apart, And There I Was, All Up In Her Fins Trying To Convince Her That Violence Against All Of Humanity Might Not Be The Right Answer.”

Papyrus looks regretful as he eventually admits, “I Just…Wanted There To Be A Better Way. Maybe That Was Foolish Of Me.”

You put your hand on Papyrus’ humerus and squeeze. When he looks at you, you firmly say, “It wasn’t.”

Papyrus’ idealism wasn’t foolish, or at least you didn’t think so. It was something you admired about him, that he wanted to see the good in things even when it was hard to find.

He smiles at your sincerity and pats your hand. “Thank You, I Appreciate That.”

Duly comforted, Papyrus continues.

“It Was Shortly Before The Human Fell. Not The One That Killed Everybody,” he’s sure to clarify, “The One That We… Well, The One We Ate. The First One.”

You weren’t under any delusions that whatever detail Sans had forgotten to mention was a pleasant one, but with a lead-in like, ‘just before we all resorted to devouring human flesh to stay alive,’ you know to brace yourself for the rest of it.

“We Were Arguing Again, Undyne And I. We’re Both Very Stubborn People, It Was Why We Made Such Interesting Friends The Rest Of The Time, But That Day… It Felt Like Bad Timing. Maybe Everyone’s Hunger Was Starting To Get To Her, Maybe It Was The Stress, Or Just All Of The Above… And Then I Said A Name I Really Probably Shouldn’t Have.”

Papyrus sounds very guilty about it. You spare a moment to wonder what name he could possibly say to get to the stony and intimidating Undyne.

You don’t have long to dwell on the question.

“I Don’t Blame Her For Taking A Swing At Me,” Papyrus says, and you jolt a little in alarm. “I Owed Undyne At Least One Freebie For Dragging Al…For Dragging _Her_ Into It. I Just Didn’t Expect That She’d Go For _Several_ Freebies At Once.”

Undyne… Undyne _attacked_ Papyrus?

You feel something hot stir in your chest and you clench your fists in your lap. You can’t quite remember a time before when you’d felt this suddenly, passionately angry.

Papyrus notices. “Oh, None Of That,” he says flippantly, too flippantly for your liking. “I’m Fairly Certain She Wasn’t Even Seeing Me. I’ve Had An Episode Or Two Myself, It Can Be Like… Like Fight Or Flight. And What Other Choice Does The Former Captain Of The Royal Guard Have But To Fight?”

“You can’t ask me to be cool with the idea of somebody hitting you, Papyrus.” You want to be absolutely clear on that point.

But Papyrus just smiles at you. “Just Like Sans,” he says, like he’d be rolling his eyes if he had any. “So Sensitive!”

You’re beginning to question Papyrus’ definition of the word.

“Well, In Any Case, I Was Too Stunned At The Time To Defend Myself. I Didn’t Really Think My Own Friend Would Attack Me Like That, I Couldn’t Quite Get My Guard Up In Time, And…”

He trails off a little, one spindly hand coming up to his mouth. He taps thoughtfully at his teeth, mindful of the metal and the blue brackets of his braces.

Like he’s just had a ‘eureka’ moment, Papyrus takes out his phone and begins scrolling through it intently, searching for something.

“I Have A Picture You Should Probably See,” he says. “It’s The First Selfie I Took Aboveground. _We_ Took, I Suppose, Sans Is In It Too, But It’s Relevant, I Promise.”

Papyrus makes a triumphant sound when he finds what he was looking for and he hands his phone to you… and you’re _horrified_ by what you see.

You never questioned before why Papyrus wore braces as an adult but now you know, looking at this photograph of him with his arm slung around his brother while he smiled for his camera with broken, jagged, _shattered_ teeth.

“Oh my god, _Papyrus…_ ”

“That’s… That’s Us,” he says a little awkwardly. “After Undyne….”

He doesn’t finish the sentence, but he doesn’t need to. “Undyne _did_ this to you?”

You look at the photo again. You’re still angry—possibly even angrier now—but the longer you look, the more you start to feel sad, too. The damage done to Papyrus’ teeth was clearly _extensive,_ you don’t even want to think about how long he had to sit in a dentist’s chair getting it repaired; how much it had to _hurt,_ and how the person responsible was somebody he’d called a friend.

Sans in the picture draws your eye, too. He has an exhausted, tremulous grin on his face as he stands in the sun for the first time, and the shining light makes the void-black hole in his head seems all the more dark in comparison.

You think of what Papyrus said, ‘That’s _Us_ After Undyne,’ and you have an awful feeling.

“Sans, too…?”

For someone so dismissive of his own pain, Papyrus looks quite solemn at the mention of his brother’s. “He Was…Trying To Protect Me. I Think. He Just…Shoved Right In Between Us, And…”

Papyrus scoffs, obviously upset.

“I Don’t Know What He Thought He Was Doing! He’s So _Fragile_ In A Fight, When He… It Was A _Miracle_ He Survived Long Enough For Me To Even _Help_ Him! I Just… I Could Have Handled Myself, I Was _Fine!_ ” he exclaimed. “…Mostly. I Can’t Imagine What He Was Thinking, Trying To Get Between Us Like That…”

You think you can imagine, though. “He probably just saw one of the toughest monsters in the Underground trying to smash his brother’s face in and wanted it to stop.”

There’s a kind of vulnerability in Papyrus’ expression when he looks at you. He seems so very… _young_.

If you didn’t already know that Sans was the older brother, you think this would probably clinch it for you.

But the moment passes and Papyrus laughs, just a little. “…Nyeh-Heh-Heh… You’re Probably Right. He’s Such A _Bonehead._ ”

You smile and take one last look at the photo.

They look terrible in it, Sans and Papyrus both: their bones are a sickly gray, there’s deep shadows beneath their eye-sockets, and each of them bears gruesome wounds that are hard for you to look directly at for too long…

But you can’t help but remember that this was their first moment of sunshine; their first moment of real freedom, ever, and they both look so, so happy.

You give Papyrus back his phone. You think you understand everything now, finally having the whole picture laid out in front of you in its entirety.

You just have one more question, one you’d already asked. You can’t quite keep the sourness out of your tone as you ask it again.

“You’re still _friends_ with Undyne?”

Papyrus doesn’t seem to take offense.

“Yes, I Am. I’ve Forgiven Her For What She Did.” Oblivious to the disbelieving look you shoot him, he adds, “She Was Juggling A Lot Of Things Back Then And She Was Struggling Just As Much As Anyone. Probably More, Actually, Trying To Be A Good Queen, And After The People She’d Lost… I Know She Didn’t Mean To Hurt Me, Or Sans. She Just Lost Control Of Herself.”

“……” You try not to grimace with pity. “Papyrus…you know what that sounds like, right?”

“Like I’m Being Willfully Naïve And Blinding Myself To The Harm Undyne Caused To Me And To My Family By Excusing Her Actions As If She’d Done Nothing Wrong Because I Want That To Be The Truth?”

Your face goes slack in surprise. Papyrus smirks at you.

“I’ve Had This Conversation Before,” he says wryly. Then firmly, “That’s Not What I’m Doing. I Know That Undyne Wronged Me. What She Did Put Me Through Hours Of Extensive And Very Painful Dental Repair, To Say Nothing Of All The Time Before I Could Even Have _That_ Done! She Nearly Killed My Brother And She _Would_ Have If She’d Had Even The Slightest Bit Of Intent Behind The Blow That Hit Him. I Take That _Very_ Seriously.”

By the look on his face, you’re inclined to believe him.

“I’m Not Blind To What She Did,” he concludes. “But I Still Forgive Her For It. I Know She’s Trying To Be Better.”

“Is she?” you wonder.

“Why Else Would She Call Off The War She’d Spent So Long Planning?” he asks you rhetorically. “Why Would She Go To Jail Where She’d Have No Chance To At Least Track Down The Human She Wanted Vengeance On The Most?”

It’s…food for thought. As much as you hate to admit it, it makes you start to reserve your judgment a little.

“She Took My Advice. She Protected My Brother. Both To Her Own Detriment! Undyne Is…” He seems to ponder his choice of words. “Undyne Is The Same As Any Of Us: We Were In A Bad Situation And…Maybe Bad Choices Were Made… But Anyone Can Be Better If They Try! And It Seems Pretty Obvious To Me That She’s Trying!”

If Papyrus were any more wholesome, you think he might literally start glowing. He really _is_ an angel…

…or at the very least, a saint.

“ _You_ Don’t Have To Forgive Her, Of Course,” he says, like an afterthought. “Forgiveness Is A Personal Decision That Everyone Has To Make For Themselves—Or Not! Just Because I Chose To Doesn’t Mean Anyone Else Has To. I Know Sans Hasn’t, And That’s Fine! But She’s My Friend Whether She Likes It Or Not, So I’m Not Giving Up On Her!”

You already know without having to think about it: you’re not quite at a forgiveness-y place yourself. You could respect Papyrus’ choice to forgive her, and you think you…sort of? understood why he would; that Undyne was a flawed person who’d made mistakes and was just trying to make good on them…

But even if she was making up for it now, she was still a person who’d caused a lot of hurt to your very good friends.

You think you’ll need a very long time to come close to forgiving Undyne, but…maybe someday.

“…And While We’re On The Subject,” Papyrus cuts into your musings, nudging slyly at your shoulder, “I Don’t Think _You_ Should Give Up On Sans.”

………What.

You say it out loud, too, and watch Papyrus’ skull light up with the kind of delight only a younger sibling dishing on their older sibling can have.

“Come On,” he says, “You Want To Ask Him Out! I Know You Almost Did It The Other Night!”

It’s a struggle to keep your jaw from dropping. “What?! How?!”

“No Denial, I See! I Was Just Guessing, But Thank You For Proving Me Right!”

… _crap,_ you were never going to get over how tricky and sharp Papyrus was!

“The Only Reason I Waited _This_ Long To Come Talk To You About That Thing Sans Definitely Legally Wasn’t Supposed To Tell You Was Because I Thought You Already Went For It,” Papyrus says. “Sans Was So Quiet And Broody All Day, I Thought For Sure It Was Because He’d Had To Shoot You Down Because Blah-Blah, He’s A Tragic Byronic Masochist Who Doesn’t Deserve To Be Happy—Don’t Let Him Do That If He Tries To, By The Way, It’s Such An Overdone Trope. If He’s Going To Do The Whole Angsty Thing, At Least Make Him Be Creative About It!”

You feel… _so_ called out. You’re not really sure what you’re supposed to say to _any_ of those words.

All that comes out when you make an attempt is a weak little, “…Was I really that obvious?”

Papyrus snickers at you.

“Oh No,” he says your name and you don’t think you’ve ever heard it spoken so _drenched_ in amused pity. “You Didn’t Think You Were Being Subtle, Did You? I Saw You On The Beach, Fondling My Brother’s Ribs In Broad Daylight…”

Is your face on fire? It feels like your face is on fire, especially when Papyrus waggles his browbones at you suggestively. “I…! There was! No fondling!”

Papyrus just hits you with a flat look. “I’m In School To Be A Nurse,” he says, “Do You Really Think I Can’t Tell When People Are ‘Playing Doctor’?”

“Oh my god.” You hope you didn’t squeak it, but you’re pretty sure you did. You don’t think it’s physically possible to be anymore embarrassed than you feel right now, and you bury your face in your hands while you try to cope with the feeling. “Please, Papyrus. Please stop. Never say those words again. I regret everything in my entire life, please.”

Papyrus, your dear friend who you care about very much, responds exactly how you expected him to: he laughs at you, loudly and with zero concern for your mortification.

Well…maybe not _zero_ concern. He does reach over and give you a very condescending pat on the head as an attempt at comfort.

“Oh, Relax,” he tells you, still grinning. “I Thought It Was Very Cute. And You Don’t Have To Worry About Sans, He Probably Hasn’t Noticed A Thing! My Brother Is Very Smart At So Many Things And So _Dumb_ At Others, I’m Sure He’s Still Just Thanking His Lucky Stars That You Still Want To Be His Friend After Everything You’ve Heard.”

That…makes you feel a little better? Not much, but a little.

 _God,_ Papyrus is ruthless.

“I Will Admit, Though, I’m Curious.” Papyrus waits until you uncover your face and look over at him to continue. “Now That You Do, In Fact, Know All Of Our Deepest, Darkest Secrets And Seem To Want To Stick Around Anyway… What Exactly Is Stopping You From Asking?”

You consider it a moment. “…Nothing?” you say hesitantly. “I guess? It… You were right, I was going to ask when Sans came over, but…it wasn’t really the right time once the Underground came up—”

“I Can See How That Would Be A Mood-Killer.”

“—but I just… I don’t think I know when the right time _will_ be. The last thing I want to do is rush anything…”

“Sans Is A Snail, And That’s At The Best Of Times,” Papyrus opines. “I Think Maybe He Could _Use_ A Little Rushing.”

Papyrus doesn’t say anything else. He seems to be waiting on you, so even if you’re not quite sure what to say, you start talking.

“I…really like Sans,” you say slowly. “He’s so…smart and he’s funny and…and really sweet.”

‘And I’m just…me,’ is what you don’t say. You know that would sound like you were fishing, and you aren’t.

Still…

“I think I’d definitely… _like_ to find out if he’d want to take our friendship any further.” You look up, asking, “Pap, you’re his brother: I mean…do you think he’s interested?”

Instead of teasing you, Papyrus seems to give the matter legitimate thought. He settles his curled fingers against his jaw as he ponders it.

“Sans Has Never Been In A Relationship Before,” he admits eventually. “I’m Not Really Sure What It Looks Like When He’s In Love… But I Can Tell You That You’re Closer To Sans Than I’ve Seen Anyone Else Get.”

You feel your heart thump a little harder in your chest. “Really?”

“Really. He’s Very Private, He Almost Never Lets People In, But He Let _You_ In.” Papyrus begins to list examples on his fingers. “He Spilled State Secrets To You, He Texts You Constantly, You’re Always Trading Those Terrible Jokes…”

 _One of those things is not like the others,_ you think, but, “Oh, shut up, Papyrus, you _like_ those jokes.”

“You’re Right, I Do!” he agrees. “Because This Is The Happiest I’ve Seen Sans In Years! Possibly Ever! He Really Likes You, Do You Think He’s Like This With Everyone?”

You know he’s not. The thought makes you feel warm inside.

“You’re Sharing Custody, For Fuck’s Sake!” Papyrus exclaims. “I’m Almost _Afraid_ To See How Much More Committed Sans Can Get! I Think He Might Actually Pick Up A Sock For You!

You want to laugh a little. That’s such a strange way to measure someone’s levels of affection…but it’s oh so Sans-y.

“He does laundry for me at work,” you tell Papyrus, “if I ask him to. He even folds the blankets and puts them away in the right cabinet.”

“OH MY GOD! So What Do You Have To Lose?!”

“His friendship?” That was really important to you, moreso, you think, than anything else. “If… if it’s a choice between that and dating him, I think I’d be fine never asking.”

“SIGH…” Papyrus actually says the word ‘sigh’ out loud. He is _so_ close to being your favorite friend, it’s ridiculous. “Listen, It’s Not Going To Be A Choice. It Just _Isn’t._ Do You Trust Me?”

“Of course.”

“Then Try,” he insists. “This Isn’t Life Or Death, It’s Just Emotions. I Know It Sometimes _Feels_ As If Death Is Preferable To Expressing Honest Feelings, But Even If It Goes As Bad As It Possibly Can, I Think You’ll Find You Only Died A _Little_ Bit,” he smiles, “And Just On The Inside.”

“Thanks, Papyrus.” This skeleton is truly a pep-talk genius because you don’t even feel anxious as you promise, “I’ll try.”

“FANTASTIC! I’ll Give You Some Time To Do It On Your Own, But If You Two Haven’t Figured It Out Soon,” he warns, “I Am Going To Do _So_ Much Matchmaking.”

“…Hm. Terrifying. Thank you, Papyrus.”

You turn to him and scooch a little closer, your arms extending and…

Huh. Well, then.

“What Are You Doing?” Papyrus wonders.

“I was gonna hug you,” you sheepishly admit, “but I…don’t think I actually know how to, from here.”

The height difference is just too much. As it stands, the only thing at your level to really wrap your arms around was his spine and you’d kind of have to wedge yourself under his ribcage to even make _that_ work.

Papyrus, however, seems delighted. “Nyeh-Heh-Heh, I Think I Can Help You With That! The Great Papyrus Is Innovative In All Things, Especially Friendship-Related Ones!”

So saying, he scoops you up entirely like your whole weight was no more troubling to him than a feather—to a huge monster as athletic and strong as Papyrus, it probably wasn’t. From up here, you’re able to wrap your arms around his neck while he gives your body a gentle squeeze right back.

When he sets you back down, careful as can be, he smiles at you. “I’m Glad Sans Found You,” he says and his sincerity touches you right down to your soul. “I _Knew_ You Were A Good Human.”

-

Papyrus ends up walking you back to work.

When he drops you off at the shelter, telling you he has to cover an evening shift soon at the home improvement store, you walk in through the lobby and feel a pair of eyes on you.

When you look, you see that new kid sitting down in one of the waiting room chairs. You hope he’s on his break, too, and not just lounging around wherever he pleases, but you can’t be sure.

“Is everything okay?” he asks you, and you’re confused.

“Yeah…? Why wouldn’t it be?”

He shrugs at you. “That’s your boyfriend’s brother, right? He’s not in today. Did something happen or what?”

Your first thought is that you’re surprised he even cares.

Your second thought is, _Oh my god, he thinks Sans is my boyfriend._

Your third thought…is amusement.

You two are really _that_ obvious, huh? To the point that even this self-absorbed guy noticed there was something going on between you and assumed your relationship was already A Thing.

You feel like you’re getting more and more comfortable with this idea that Sans likes you back.

It’s only been a couple days since you’ve seen him last and you already miss his face. The urge kiss it feels like it’s been getting stronger every day for awhile now.

Well.

Papyrus has given you a ticking clock and his vote of confidence: with those as your motivation, you feel like you can do just about anything.

“No,” you tell the new guy, “everything’s great!”

You head to the back to clock in and while you’re at it, you send Sans one more text.

 **You:** Miss you! :)

 **PUNbelievable:** aww, miss you too.

You think that’s the end of it and almost have your phone back away when it buzzes again.

 **PUNbelievable:** [IMG-76]

You’re smiling automatically at the picture he just sent you.

It’s a selfie, Sans in a pose so exaggerated you don’t doubt he’d be accenting it with a duck-face if only he had lips. He has Buddy—the whole entire dog—draped over his shoulders like he were a fancy feather boa.

Buddy looks beyond confused but resigned to his fate.

 **PUNbelievable:** what do you think, too much?

You know right away why Sans sent you this. You know that he saw your text and assumed you might be a little down.

He wanted to make you smile.

It’s working.

 **You:** This is what you do all day while I’m out making money? Harass my son?

 **PUNbelievable:** i’m a stay-at-home dad, gotta entertain the kid somehow. ‘specially when he’s got no thumbs to color with.

 **You:** Alright, well, some of us have to work for a living, quit pestering our dog!

 **You:** And he’s not too much, he’s very fetching on you.

 **PUNbelievable:** lol good one.

_Good one?_

It actually takes you a minute to realize. You have to look at your text again to see it, staring for longer than you wanted to admit.

_‘Fetching.’_

Stars above, you were punning on _accident_ now—that’s what Sans was doing to you.

…You smile a little wider.

You hope he never stops.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a little more backstory/world-building to get out, but I think this really was the last of it!
> 
> For those keeping track of this particular HT canon, the following characters are confirmed alive: Sans, Papyrus, Undyne, Gerson. The next following characters are confirmed dead: Toriel, Asgore, Mettaton, Alphys. Any other monster? Flip a coin, they may or may not have made it out of the Underground.
> 
> I feel bad for doing Undyne as dirty as I did, having both Asgore and Alphys be gone, but at the same time it was what made sense to me. Going into the HT fandom it seemed to be the consensus that Undyne was responsible for Sans' head wound and Papyrus' broken, crooked teeth but I couldn't quite make it mesh with her character in my head. Papyrus at least is her best friend, why would she ever want to hurt him? ...Except if she was traumatized, heartbroken, and grieving and didn't do it intentionally.
> 
> As for Papyrus, it also seemed only natural for him to forgive her. He has a big heart and a big capacity for believing in people to be their best, so him believing that she's trying to do better and is sorry for what she did--and she is--well, that's enough for him.
> 
> We're a little light on the Sans this chapter, but Papyrus needed his time in the spotlight, too. I always have a blast getting to write Papyrus my favorite way to see him portrayed: as a clever, sassy skeleton with a dark sense of humor but an optimistic outlook!
> 
> And finally, just a little logistic note, I went back through and added titles to the chapters, so you're not imagining things, I definitely did edit that.
> 
> As always, thanks for reading and I hope you enjoyed the chapter! :D
> 
>  
> 
> ~~LetPapyrusSayFuck2k18~~


	8. Start

Sans is…odd the next time you see him.

You only really notice because of the fact that you _don’t_ see him at first, making it a whole two hours into your shift at the shelter before catching a glimpse of him in passing.

He’s lugging around a dog-crate, Great Dane-sized and unspeakably awkward for any one human to relocate but a breeze for your giant skeleton friend.

You call out to him, a cheerful and upbeat little, “Hey!” that turns his skull.

He smiles back when he sees you, offering up a quiet little, “hey,” of his own, but then he’s right back to his task without any further ado. 

You can’t quite put your finger on how, but you know from that one little micro-interaction that something’s off.

Maybe it’s the nervous edge to his grin, or the tense set of his shoulders. Maybe it’s just good old-fashioned human intuition, but you feel like _something’s_ up with Sans.

Naturally, you investigate.

You seek him out a couple times in between your duties that morning, keeping it as casual as possible. You ask for his help reaching a thing or to hold something that you just don’t have enough hands for yourself, making small talk all the while, feeling him out.

His responses to you weren’t…cold, exactly, but you noticed a clipped nature to the way he spoke and a new softness to his tone.

Well…maybe not _new._

By late afternoon, well past your usual lunch hour, you’ve got it figured: _he’s_ feeling _you_ out.

You think you can guess why—it’s your first time interacting one-on-one since Sans spilled his metaphorical guts and he’s probably just…not really sure where the line is now? _If_ there’s a line?

And if there is one, it’s clear to you that he doesn’t want to step over it. The way he seems to actually, physically skirt your personal space when you stand right next to him attests to that, and so do the frequent pauses you get before he replies to something you said, carefully weighing his words so not to accidentally offend.

It’s almost like you’ve gone back in time, back to that first week when Sans was just an acquaintance at best and you had been starting to worry that this skeleton was one mystery you’d _never_ puzzle out.

Now, though…you don’t bother worrying.

Sans is just being a little extra shy and you’ve more than learned by now how to handle _that._

Luckily, you came _extra_ prepared today.

With just a quick side-trip to your bag, you track Sans down again and find him in the cat room, poking at a little orange paw through somebody’s cage.

He looks over at you when you walk in and smiles…only to instantly twig to the fact that you’ve got your hands behind your back.

“…what’s up?” he asks, that awkward hesitance coloring his tone.

_Can’t have that, now can we?_

“Papyrus told me the other day that I shouldn’t let you get too _mallow_ dramatic,” you say with a grin, “so I got you a little present. You wanna see it?”

How could he possibly say no when you’d teased it with a pun?

“sure…?”

With a flourish, you reveal your gift and pass it over to him in a crinkle of plastic. You rock back a little on your heels in delighted anticipation while he processes what he’s looking at.

You’ve handed him a bag full of muted orange candies and you watch him squish them gently beneath his fingers before letting them bounce back to their natural shape.

That shape, of course, being that of ludicrously oversized marshmallow peanuts.

“They’re called Circus Peanuts,” you tell him. “I had to keep that promise to bring you some, but I thought I’d get a little imagi _nut_ ive about it. Do you like it?”

Sans makes a little noise, involuntary and quickly restrained. If pressed, you’d call it a snerk.

You don’t have to make up a word for the next thing he does, though: you know Sans’ laugh even better than your own.

It’s your absolute favorite one, too, the kind where Sans is just completely _losing_ it, wheezing and practically in tears from how stupidly hilarious he finds something.

You think you probably have an insufferably smug look on your face right now.

“tuh…too…!” He’s struggling to get his words out, still giggling, and that just makes you prouder. “this is…this is too _marsh_ of a good thing, what the _fuck_ … do they taste like peanuts or just marshmallow?”

Your grin takes a definite turn towards the shit-eating kind. “They’re banana-flavored.”

That just sparks a fresh bout of laughter. “oh my god, _why_?” You shrug, neither knowing nor caring about the answer and Sans shakes his head. “ _humans,_ holy shit. i love it, you’re all insane…”

“Don’t you mean we’re ‘nuts’?”

Sans shoves at your shoulder. It’s automatic, sliding right back into that wonderful ‘friendly touching zone’ that you’d been sorely missing and you don’t think you’ve ever been so happy to be (gently) pushed.

“i’m supposed to be the funny guy ‘round here,” he says. “don’t go tryin’ to steal my thunder, it ain’t all it’s _cracked_ up to be.”

Oh shit, a _twofer,_ cracking nuts and cracking thunder. You’re clearly in the presence of the master.

“I know when I’m beat,” you chuckle, hands raised in surrender. “The usual prize for your victory, O Mighty Pun King?”

“lunch?” Sans frowns at you, his eye-light darting over to the clock. “ya’ mean you didn’t go yet?”

“Without my partner in crime?” you scoff disbelievingly. “No way.”

Sans just stares at you a moment, blankly, like he’s trying to figure you out…

And then he smiles.

It’s softer than his ‘incoming cheesy joke’ grin, more genuine than the permanent default smile of his skull.

It’s warm and fond and directed solely at you.

You think maybe your face has the exact same smile on it right now.

“well, hell, you already know i don’t turn down free food,” he decides casually. “yeah, let’s go.”

Buoyed, you all but skip out the door with Sans trailing after you.

It’s a familiar scene, treating Sans to lunch at work, and in that moment it’s almost like nothing had even changed between the two of you in the first place.

It’s not true, of course: _everything_ has changed and you both know it… but that was okay.

There was a ‘normal’ somewhere in all of this and as long as Sans was coming with you, you were happy to embrace it, wherever it took you.

It seemed like you and Sans were on the same page and you knew everything was going to be just fine.

-

The next day, Sans approaches you with an unusual request.

“hey, you got a pen?”

Well…unusual for _Sans,_ in any case.

“You’re actually going to write something down?” is your flabbergasted response. “On physical paper?”

Sans chuckles. “heheh, i know, it’s barbaric, right? but yeah, uh… i was……i been…lookin’ at stuff. y’know, on the internet.”

You’re not quite sure what to say to that. “There’s a lot of stuff on that thing, I hear.”

He huffs. “you’re tellin’ me. there’s tons of things, stuff you’re supposed to…that they say you should do? but uh… one of ‘em is…keepin’ a journal.”

With a start, you realize what he’s talking about and you try to keep the surprise off your face.

Of all the things for Sans to be researching online, the last thing you expected to hear about was ‘coping mechanisms for trauma.’

“there’s some other stuff, too,” he continues, rubbing at the back of his neck and obviously trying to talk through the self-consciousness, “probably most of it is bunk, but i never… i thought maybe i oughta give some of it a fair shot? worst case scenario, it sucks, i figure i just don’t bother with it anymore, try another thing. could be worth it, right?”

“Sure,” you say, “yeah, it couldn’t hurt.”

You have a lot of feelings about this new information, most of them positive—even if the things he’s trying don’t work or fall through, you feel like the fact that Sans is making an attempt at _something_ is a big step. 

You want to encourage him so he knows you support this, but you don’t want to embarrass him either, or worse, patronize him.

You try to aim for casual instead. “That’s really cool that you’re gonna do a journal. I tried it a couple times, but I could never be consistent about it.”

Sans’ cheekbones go a little blue anyway. “eheheh, yeah, that’s…that’s the big thing, the consistency part. supposedly. so, uh…pen?”

You smile. “You’re in luck,” you tell him. “I fucking _love_ office supplies.”

It was the truth, though you weren’t entirely sure why. Notebooks, pencils, pens, and markers alike, they all tickled your fancy, even the times when you knew you didn’t have a use for them.

You think maybe it’s the promise of possibility that you like so much. Once you actually took pen to page, you felt a little less passionate about the supplies, more focused on the words or the half-hearted doodle you were scribbling than the medium, but something about an untouched page and a never-before-used implement was just…

Thrilling, somehow.

That was probably why you had a stupid amount of fancy, empty notebooks at home for no reason, and why it was easy for you to shuffle around in your bag and produce _several_ offerings of pen for Sans’ perusal.

He barks out a short laugh when he sees them all splayed so professionally in your hands.

Of course, you especially favored _novelty_ pens, so he may also have been amused just by that.

Sans’ red eye trails over his choices—a twisty little rainbow number, a ‘syringe’ with green liquid inside, a pencil with a donut in place of an eraser, just to name a few.

He reaches out and you’re certain he’s going to pick the basic blue pen with a cat-head on top…

But he doesn’t.

“The banana,” you muse aloud. “Interesting choice, sir.”

You’d never actually used that one yourself, finding it too wide around to comfortably write with, but for Sans and his big gorilla mitts, you imagine it’s probably just right.

“what can i say?” he winks. “it’s got a universal a _peel._ ”

The classic joke makes you snicker, but it gives Sans pause.

You realize he must’ve been telling the truth when he’d said he had a talent for reading faces because without you saying another word, he concludes, “…i’ve used that one before, haven’t i?”

“So’ve I,” you admit with a shrug. “Does it matter? Funny’s funny.”

“……heh. s’pose you’re right.” Sans decides after a moment.

Then he waggles the pen a bit.

“thanks a _bunch._ really appreciate the gesture of f _yellow_ ship here. i’ll be sure to get it back to ya’ if it doesn’t _slip_ my mind.”

You ever so affectionately jab him in the face with your donut-eraser. 

“If only this could erase the really _big_ mistakes,” you lament teasingly.

“my face?”

“Mmm, your face is alright. I think the mistake was your mouth.”

“what’d i do to deserve such a _tongue_ -lashing?”

You laugh. “Oh, _bite_ me!”

-

It’s sometime later when you’re having a late-night texting session with Sans and the topic of his trash-tornado comes up.

Apparently, Buddy made the mistake of losing a squeaky toy in it and immediately abandoned Sans’ room to hole up with Papyrus when he realized he couldn’t play with it anymore.

Sans had sent you a picture of the toy in question, blurred in the image as it swirled around with a couple of books and an envelope.

It was a very silly photograph, but it made you do a double-take.

 **You:** Whoa, hang on, wait a minute, did you clean your room?!

 **PUNbelievable:** lol is it that obvious from just that one little bit?

 **You:** You cleaned it, Sans, you should know best of anyone how much disaster-spillover there was to clean up. Unless you finally just let Papyrus at it and called it good?

 **PUNbelievable:** nah, i did it. if i’d have let Pap in here, you think i’d still have my ‘nado?

Definitely not. Papyrus on a cleaning bender was a skeleton with a life-mission to Eradicate All Filth.

 **You:** Well, come on, let me see! I’ll validate you, you know you want it.

 **PUNbelievable:** okay, but i’m tellin’ ya’, i expect a ‘super work’ sticker, at least a gold star, somethin’ nice for the trophy cabinet.

 **PUNbelievable:** [IMG-98]

_Holy shit._

Sans really earned those stickers, the room you were looking at was practically _tidy._

It wasn’t perfect: there was a hamper in the corner that was probably a lot fuller than it should’ve been, a desk littered with an unnecessary amount of rocks, and of course one single, solitary sock in the middle of the floor.

But compared to the other details you could see, you were still beyond impressed.

That sock was the _only_ thing still on the floor and without the layer of dirty clothes and crumpled garbage, you could actually see Sans’ carpet and it looked fluffy, like he may have _vacuumed._

The lamp on the desk was switched on and the bulb was glowing strong—an actual bulb instead of the jury-rigged flashlight-in-the-socket disaster that you’d incredulously laughed about many a time.

You could only see it a little bit, since Sans was the one taking the picture and he happened to be on it at the time, but it even looked like the bed was semi-made. At the very least, he’d put a fitted sheet on it instead of just leaving it bare like he did before.

 **You:** I’m getting you a whole sheet of stickers, damn!

 **You:** Scratch-n-sniff ones, you earned it, how long did that take you?

 **PUNbelievable:** you don’t wanna know, think i napped ten hours straight once i finished.

Jeez, you believe it. You’d probably do the same.

 **PUNbelievable:** but it was one of the things and it kept popping up so i had to try it, see if it did anything.

Oh. 

Oh wow, he was taking this thing _seriously_ if he did all that work at home on his own.

You’re curious.

 **You:** Did it help?

 **PUNbelievable:** eh. maybe a little? i feel like less of a dumbass when i’m not rolling out of bed and immediately tripping on my own crap, but beyond that, i dunno.

 **You:** That’s fair, a little clutter is kind of unavoidable anyway unless nobody’s actually living in the room.

You take a look at the picture again, your eyes settling on Sans’ partial rock collection. As always, you’re genuinely impressed by the range of colors and sheens you can see, even at a slightly fuzzy distance.

You’d really have to try to remember some more of the names next time Sans went on a hyper-nerdy tangent and started describing them to you. Some of them were so beautiful and cool that they made you want to get a few yourself, just to decorate your place with.

You could only remember a couple offhand, though, and picked them out on Sans’ desk where you could see them: the round ball of glittery goldstone, the flat slab of labradorite in blue and yellow iridescence, the…

Hey, wait.

 **You:** Did you lose your apatite again? It’s not on your desk anymore…

The big, rough chunk of aqua was hard to miss so you were pretty sure that if you weren’t seeing it, it was because it wasn’t there. 

Sans had already lost it once already, it would be a shame if he’d lost it a second time because Buddy wasn’t around to sniff it out for him.

 **PUNbelievable:** sharp eyes, i’ll make a geologist out of you yet.

 **PUNbelievable:** didn’t lose it, put it away. couple others too, they didn’t make the cut to stay on the desk.

 **You:** Relegated to pocket-duty, then?

 **PUNbelievable:** shoebox duty, i think pocket-duty is permanently occupied.

You frown at the text, confused…

…or at least you do, until the next message comes through.

 **PUNbelievable:** [IMG-99]

It’s…it’s your paperweight. The one you bought him.

Sans sent you a picture of it, the smooth, gray rock settled in the palm of his rough, bony hand like it belonged there with its text staring you right in the face.

‘NOTHING IS WRITTEN IN STONE’

 **PUNbelievable:** not to get too sappy or nothing, but it’s actually really helped me a lot so…thanks.

You have to take a moment, pressing your fingers to your chest as if to still your heart.

“Oh my god, _Sans_ …”

What a sweetheart. An absolutely adorable giant skeleton bastard.

There’s so many things you could say to that, but they’re all way too emotional for a platonic text conversation at three in the morning, so you just send him a fraction of your feelings instead.

 **You:** I’m glad! Let me know if you ever lose it and need another one, I’ll replace it for you.

Was even that little fraction too much? Too strong?

You don’t have to fret about it for long.

 **PUNbelievable:** thanks, sugar-human, i’ll keep that in mind.

…………

Oh my god, _that_ again?!

Scratch every soft thought you just had, Sans was a huge _jerk_ and he was getting a flick on the nasal ridge the next time you saw him.

He was so lucky he was _your_ jerk.

-

It’s been a few weeks by the time you get the text message.

It’s from a number that’s never texted you before; that’s only ever called you, and it’s in video format.

Only five seconds long, it shows a stylish wristwatch being tapped by one long, spidery phalange.

The meaning is clear: _Hurry It Up._

Message received, Papyrus.

-

You’d made something of a habit out of visiting the brothers’ house over the weekend lately. They were always happy to have you and sometimes you’d all go out together to the park or to get ice cream or et cetera, but other times you’d just stay in. 

Their commentary when being introduced to your favorite shows on TV was gold-tier comedy, the team-up of you and Papyrus was the only force that stood a chance against Sans’ rampant cheating at board games, and you’d never had an evening that was less than stellar hanging out with the two of them.

But it was afternoon now and Papyrus was out of the house for the day, on an excursion to buy some mulch and other gardening essentials. The weather was starting to take a turn for the chilly and as excited as he was to see the change of seasons, Papyrus was firm on the need to winterize his garden so all of his hard work would remain when spring eventually came back around.

He was always so thorough when buying new products, reading every single ingredient and pulling over an employee or two to ask for their educated opinions before making a decision of his own.

You had awhile before he’d be back and it was just Sans at home.

Sans and soon, you.

You let yourself in with the spare key they’d told you the hiding spot of and announced yourself, but it seemed like you were talking to no one.

You wondered if maybe Sans had actually gone with Papyrus at the last minute, or if he was upstairs still sleeping until you heard a distant, muffled bark from outside—in the backyard.

Following it, you find a sight that makes your chest feel full and you have to tamp down your urge to audibly, ‘awww.’

Sans is sitting there outside in the grass, lounging underneath the sun while Buddy scampers around him chasing an array of hovering, twirling white and orange bones.

“Fetch without the slight effort of having to throw something?” you wonder aloud.

Sans turns to face you. His conjured bones fade from existence (to Buddy’s disappointment), but he doesn’t startle so you know it was intentional and not because you spooked him.

“somethin’ like that,” he says, smiling up at you as you walk out to join him. “heya. Pap’s out for awhile, wants to—”

“Winterize the garden,” you finish. “Yeah, he called to let me know.”

Papyrus had been calling to let you know pretty much every time he left the house lately and planned to be gone for more than ten minutes.

“ah, here for buddy then?”

The dog in question was giving your feet and legs his customary thorough sniff, even as you plopped yourself down in the grass next to Sans and he had to shift his excited snuffling to your face. You gave him a quick, hearty scritch in greeting.

“Yep,” you said aloud. “Definitely couldn’t be here for any other reason. It’s not like my best friend lives here or anything.”

Sans flushed a little, which made you smile, but he didn’t seem to be too overly flustered.

Yet.

“You having fun out here?” you wonder. “Getting in a couple more days of nice weather before the cold?”

Sans merely shrugs. “guess so, but s’not like i mind snow. actually kinda excited about it.”

“Yeah?”

“we lived in snowdin,” he says, and you think you remember Papyrus talking about it once. “snowed all the time there—magic snow, obviously, but i liked it.”

“Sweater weather,” you nod knowingly.

“heheh, yeah. s’a little colder up here, the real thing, but i’m not gonna complain.” He grins at you, giving you a gentle nudge with his elbow. “the cold goes _right through me,_ y’know?”

You laugh and return his nudge with a bap on the shoulder.

“What about this one?” you ask, gesturing to Buddy. He must’ve been chasing magic bones for awhile because he was still panting a little bit and the moment you’d gotten settled on the ground he’d joined you in a tired sprawl. “He got all his winter-gear ready to go for when he needs it?”

Sans snickers. “you better believe it, Pap went on a spree as soon as the thermometer dropped. buddy’s got booties and doggles and the ugliest sweater i ever seen in my life, and i’ve seen some shit.”

You snicker a little, too. “Aww, he’s gonna _hate_ you.”

Sans’ grin widened. “oh, you bet’cha.” He reached out, though, fondly patting Buddy on the head and got a cursory finger-lick for his trouble that made his smile soften a little. “y’know, m’glad ya’ talked me into bringin’ this guy home.”

You snorted loudly. “Pfft, _what_?” You fix Sans with an expression of amused disbelief. “You know damn well I had nothing to do with that!”

Sans shakes his head, though, not even looking up. “ya’ had _everything_ to do with it,” he says.

_………oh. Oh, Sans._

Something in you suddenly speaks and your heart starts beating faster.

You’d been wondering how you would know, what would tell you when the right time was.

You could almost hear it in your head, though, in time with the thumping of your heartbeat.

_Now, now, now…!_

You take a deep breath.

“Sans?”

He looks at you, curious. His eye-sockets are crinkled at the edges like a happy cat’s and his red eye-light is bright and attentive.

You’re not afraid. You start talking.

“I like you,” you say, as frank and firm as you’ve ever said anything in your life. “I _really_ like you. You’re a sweet guy and you make me laugh and I feel comfortable with you like…like I don’t think I have with anybody else before.”

Cards on the table, though, you have to be honest, Sans deserves that much.

“I’m…not really sure what I have to offer you?” you admit with uncertainty. “I don’t think… I’m not…super-smart, or…or really ambitious. I’ve been working at an animal shelter since I graduated,” you laugh awkwardly, “and, and I never even really _thought_ of doing anything else… I don’t really know how I’m…”

 _Unique, extraordinary, attractive, **special,**_ but those words don’t come out.

“I’m just…me,” you settle on eventually. “And I… I don’t know, maybe you’d rather just be friends, and that’s fine, too, I _love_ being your friend, but—”

“stop.”

You do, chancing a look up at Sans.

His skull is utterly blank—you can’t read his expression at all.

“are you for real?” he asks you. “is that what you think…?”

Your mouth opens…but you don’t speak. You’re not sure what to say, so you close it again.

Whatever Sans sees in your face makes him frown, looking… _pained._

He says your name, sternly, emphatically. “you couldn’t _be_ more wrong.”

You…don’t understand.

“…I’m…just—”

“‘just you,’” he echoes, cutting you off again. “do you really not see who ‘you’ is? do you really not know what you’ve got to offer?”

You have no idea.

Sans tells you.

“you’re a go-getter,” he says. “when somethin’ needs doin’, you just _do_ it ‘cause it’s gotta get done. you know what you want an’ you go after it, no detours or second-guessin’ necessary. you wanna help animals? you _go_ help animals. you wanna make friends with a big, scary skeleton? you just go right up an’ talk to him, like it’s nothin’ at all.”

Sans huffs in disbelief.

“you really think just anybody is the way you are?” he asks. “you think some random human off the street would look at me, _me,_ an’ think ‘new pal’ instead of, ‘oof, better go to the other side of the street’?”

“Hey,” you cut in, a little weak, “it doesn’t matter what you look like—”

“yeah, it doesn’t,” he agrees, “to _you._ when you look at me, heh…i know you’re actually seein’ _me,_ an’ not…what i _did._ ”

He scoffs like something’s just occurred to him.

“you _know_ what i did!” Sans exclaims. “you know and you’re still _here,_ ya’ _can’t_ think that’s a typical reaction.”

…you hadn’t known any other way to react. It hadn’t seemed right to react any other way; wouldn’t have been fair.

“y’know you make it look easy?” When it’s obvious that you don’t understand, Sans explains, “bein’ a good person. doin’ the right thing. it…hell, you’re _inspiring._ ”

That startles you.

“when…when i’m with you…i feel like the guy i used to be, before…before everything went sideways. i feel like i could _be_ him again, if i work at it.”

Sans reaches for you and grabs your hand, squeezing.

“you know me,” he says, “i hate workin’ but since you came, i… i wanna _try._ you make me feel like ‘getting better’ isn’t just…some…impossible thing i could never get near in a million years. you make me feel like i could actually _get_ there.”

You’ve never been at a loss for words like _this_ before.

Emotions high, your heart in your throat and your hand in his, you say the first thing that comes to mind.

“You make _me_ feel like I’m…special.”

Sans doesn’t hesitate to answer.

“you _are._ ”

You’re not sure if he’s the one to lean forward first or if it’s you.

Maybe you both do.

Your lips graze his teeth and you surge up, finally kissing him full-on like you’ve been wanting to do for longest time and it’s everything, exactly what you’d been waiting for…!

…until his skull slides to the side, away from your mouth, where he starts to nuzzle at your cheek.

It’s soft, tender and clearly affectionate but it’s also…not really what you were expecting?

You’re not sure _what_ you were expecting.

Sans only takes a moment to notice your confusion and when he pulls back, he’s already blue.

“uhh…sorry,” he says a little nervously. “i, uh…eheheheh…no lips, y’know?”

…oh. _Duh._

You laugh a little, too, mostly at yourself. “No, no, it’s fine,” you promise. “It was nice, I…I liked it. I just, ha, I don’t think I was…expecting it?”

He looks at you hopefully, his red eye wide and intent. “are you…expecting it now?”

You grin. “I don’t know,” you shrug, feeling a little giddy, a little playful. “Maybe you should find out?”

Sans looks as keen as you feel—like he can’t believe his luck and isn’t about to question it—and he smiles brightly at you before taking you in his arms and nuzzling you again.

This time, you nuzzle back, rubbing your cheek against his skull with enthusiasm. You can’t help but pepper in a few of the sorts of kisses you’re used to against his teeth and jaw along the way, but Sans just pulls you more firmly against him, tugging you all the way into his lap, so you have a sneaking suspicion that he doesn’t particularly mind.

Your heart is beating _so hard_ in your chest but you’re _so happy_ right now that you don’t even think you care.

You stay like that for a long time, cuddled up against Sans’ broad body while you nuzzle each other and giggle like teenagers.

The moment is only broken when Buddy, lying bored and forgotten in the grass, suddenly shoots up and darts back to the door of the house, barking excitedly.

You both look up from each other to find Papyrus standing there with his shopping and the smuggest smirk in the entire universe on his skull.

“Well, Well, Well,” he hums like the (not so) little shit that he is. “It’s About Time, You Two! I Thought I Was Going To Have To Lock You In A Closet Before You Got Anywhere, But Here You Are, Canoodling In My Garden!”

You feel your face heat a little, but Sans speaks before you can.

“don’t worry, bro, we won’t squish your peonies or nothin’.”

“They’re _Marigolds,_ ” Papyrus snaps, “And See To It That You Don’t!”

It’s obvious that he’s not actually annoyed, though—he’s smiling like the holidays came early, even as he ushers Buddy inside.

“I’m Going To Walk The Dog Now Because It’s His Designated Walk Time,” he says, “And Definitely _Not_ To Give Any Hypothetical Lovebirds Some Space! By The Time I Get Back, I Expect To Be Able To Sit Down For Lunch With Two Separate People, Not One Combined Snuggle-Conglomerate!”

And that’s the last you hear of the matter before the back door shuts and it’s just you and Sans alone in the garden.

It only takes a second of eye-contact before you’re both bursting out into laughter.

“Oh…oh my god,” you wheeze, “‘snuggle-conglomerate,’ that’s, that’s a new one!”

“it’s our ship-name, i think,” Sans proposes with a chuckle. “a little unconventional, but it’s ours, we gotta take pride in that.”

“Obviously,” you concur.

Wanting to make sure everything is clear and to stay on that same page with Sans, though, you have to ask.

“So…if I were to ask you to date me…”

“relative dating or absolute dating?”

…………

“Sans, you giant fucking nerd, be serious.”

Sans tilts his head at you. “how can i be serious if i’m sans?”

The _dad jokes_ on this one…!

“ _Sans_ …”

He laughs and pulls you closer again for another nuzzle. In your ear, he says, “i’d love to date ya’, count me in.”

You nuzzle him back, too excited by his answer to even give him a little more hell for messing with you.

It’s just as well that Sans doesn’t have lips to kiss you.

You don’t think you’d be able to stop smiling long enough for a proper smooch, anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dating Start! Our slow burn finally has lift-off! ;D
> 
> So, yes, Reader does have some self-esteem issues. I'm not sure how well it worked, but it was something I've been trying to foreshadow for awhile, that they tend to feel very un-special and just plain average as a person. Luckily for them, they just bagged a guy that thinks the world of 'em and isn't afraid to let them know!
> 
> We're nearing the end of the story, as I have it plotted out-- there's still another two chapters to go plus an epilogue (so three chapters, let's be real), but I've also got a handful of ideas for side-stories that would take place in the same 'verse as this, so there's no need to worry that the _end_ -end is particularly near! 
> 
> As always, thanks for reading, everybody, your kudos and comments are my lifeblood and I love each and every one of you! :D


	9. Bloom

Your first date with Sans is…an experience, from start to finish.

You’re at home, picking at some chips more from boredom than hunger and trying to keep from going to bed too early when your phone lights up with a text.

 **PUNbelievable:** hey, you wanna see a movie this week?

That wakes you up and you’re grinning excitedly as you type out your reply—an enthusiastic yes, naturally—but before you can hit ‘send’ the screen changes.

…Sans is _calling_ you?

You answer it, cautious confusion coloring your tone. “Hello…?”

There’s no answer at first, but the line is hardly silent. Muffled and a little distant, you hear something.

_“…ext, Sans?! Are You Serious? That Is **So** Ungentlemanly, You Saw Them In Person **Just Today** , You Should’ve Done It Then! I Swear, It’s Like You’ve Never Touched A Dating Manual In Your Life!”_

_“shut **up** , i’m doin’ it, i’m callin’ ‘em, get out!”_

………Oh stars. This is the best thing ever.

You hold a hand over your mouth to cover your snort of laughter as the bickering continues.

_“I Just Can’t Understand Why You Wouldn’t Want To Do It The Blatantly Correct Way To Begin With! I’m Glad You’re Passionate About Someone But You Have To Show **Them** That! You Have To—”_

There’s a weird sort of thud…kind of a clonk?

_“Oh, A Bullet, Sans? Very Mature!”_

_“oh my **god** , Pap, leave!”_

_“Fine, And Good Luck Without My Advice Anyway Because I Still Care About You And Wish You The Best! Even Though You’re A Disaster!”_

_“rrrgh, ditto, go!”_

You think Papyrus is leaving because you hear some loud stomping and then a deep sigh that sounds like Sans trying very hard to remember that he loves and cherishes his little brother more than most things in the world.

You still _really_ want to laugh, but if Sans is actually about to ask you out (again) in person (sorta), you want to make it as smooth as possible for him.

Acting like you just picked up the phone and didn’t hear any of that, you say, “Hello?”

_“…hey. it’s…it’s me. sans.”_

Oh, this skeleton was gonna be the death of you. He’s just too _cute._

“Hey, Sans,” you say casually. “What’s up?”

_“……uh. i texted you? about. maybe…goin’ to a movie…?”_

He sounds so stilted and awkward. It makes you want to kiss his cheeks…or maybe nuzzle them? That seemed to be the skeleton-equivalent of smooching.

You wonder which he liked better from you and feel a giddy thrill in your chest when you realize you have plenty of time to figure it out firsthand, now that you and Sans were going to be dating.

But in the meantime, you think the poor guy deserves a break, so you give him a very clear and easy answer.

“Yeah, I saw that! I was saying ‘yes’ when you called, a movie sounds great.”

_“………yeah? s…seriously?”_

“Seriously! How about I text you some days that are good and then we figure out details from there?”

It seemed like the most efficient solution to you. Sans always said he liked text-histories and how they made it easy to go back and see what was said if he forgot later, or needed to jot it down as a reminder or an alarm.

If you were trying to organize a meeting out someplace, it feels like you should do it in a way he has a fair shot of retaining.

Sure enough, he sounds excited by your suggestion, even a little relieved.

_“okay. yeah, okay, that’s…i’ll… cool! text me, then. bye.”_

“Bye!”

You sit in silence for half a moment after you hang up before finally allowing yourself to laugh.

What in the _hell_ was a Dating Manual, anyway? And what did it have against texting someone for a date?!

You ultimately decide you’re not sure you want to know.

You delete the text you’d been typing out before that hilariously weird phone call and start a new one to hash out the details of your first date with your brand new skeleton beau.

-

Picking the movie to go see isn’t too terribly difficult. Horror and thrillers are pretty much an immediate no, and the kids’ films don’t exactly scream ‘date night,’ so you’re able to pass on all of those titles without much dithering.

That narrows your choices down considerably and you’re pretty much left with an action movie and a romantic comedy.

The action movie seems like it _could_ be cool, but when you look it up you see that people have warned for lots of violence and loud noises. Sans never mentioned any particular triggers of his, so he could very well be totally fine with it…but the more you think about it, the less it seems like his type of movie, anyway.

‘Sans’ and ‘action’ don’t really go together in your head—even at work, when he actually gets things done, he’s never very quick about it. ‘Fast’ just doesn’t feel like his style.

So, one option, the rom-com.

You check out a preview and decide within the first thirty seconds that the movie is totally cheesy and more than a little clichéd.

For a guy like Sans? It’s the _perfect_ choice.

From there, it’s a breeze to pick a day and a show time that works with both your schedule and his non-schedule, and soon it’s time.

You dress up just a little, taking a bit more care with your appearance than usual but nothing too over the top, and when your doorbell rings it feels like you skip on the way to answer it.

Opening the door gives you a small shock…but hardly a bad one.

Sans looks very spiffy in his own date-outfit and you take a good look at him as he stands under your porchlight.

You’ve never seen Sans wearing long pants before, or actual _shoes._ The powder blue button-up he has on is a lovely complement to his bones, and the charcoal gray sweater vest he’s wearing over it is a very nice touch.

The neatly fixed tie tucked into it may be a little much, but by the way Sans is fidgeting with it and mussing it all up, you think he may agree.

You smell Papyrus all over this, and it makes you grin a little bit, but…

“Hey there, handsome,” you greet him. “You clean up nice.”

Sans is blushing immediately. “eheheheheheh…you, uh…you, too…”

Your eyes widen as he suddenly holds out a potted plant to you. It looks a little like a lily, if lilies came in carmine-red. Maybe they did? You certainly wouldn’t know, but you take it anyway.

“this is…uh. i actually have no idea,” Sans admits. “but i’m…supposed to give it to you? i guess?”

You laugh. “I’m not worried, I’m sure _Papyrus_ will tell me how to take care of it.”

Sans laughs a little, too, but with an added edge of nervousness. You think you catch him sweating a little and you unceremoniously set the flower just inside before closing the door behind you.

Sans’ big red eye-light shrinks a little when you get right up close to him and lean up on your toes to lay your hands on his shoulders. He looks a little confused but he obligingly bends down to meet you anyway when you tug at him.

You kiss him, one big smooch right in the middle of his teeth before turning your head to nuzzle against him with your cheek.

It still feels a little silly to you, but as soon as he gets past his moment of surprise, Sans is nuzzling you back, the tense set of his shoulders relaxing.

You’re not sure you’ve ever made a guy _this_ nervous for a first date before. As flattered as you are, seeing your big, goofy Sans all wound up in knots like this is giving you an official goal for the night.

By the end of this date, you _will_ get him to loosen up a little.

“Thanks for the gift,” you grin against his cheekbone. “I’d have gotten you something, but I didn’t have the _presents_ of mind to remember.”

It takes a couple seconds, but Sans’ shoulders bounce a little beneath your hands.

“wh…what’re ya’ talkin’ about?” he chuckles. “seemed like an even exchange to me. i got’cha a flower, an’ you gave me _two-lips._ ”

“Pffft…!”

You pull back, shoving him a little, but damn it if you aren’t smiling.

“Am I ever gonna win a pun-off against you?” you demand.

Sans shrugs. “seems like a very narrow _win_ dow of opportunity. would’ja settle for a _date_ instead?”

“Of course, I—……” You stared hard at the thing Sans was holding out to you, palm-sized, wrinkly and reddish-brown. “Is that… You seriously brought me _a date_?”

“you’re my date, arent’cha?” You see the barest flash of hesitation in his grin. “i mean, it’s cool if ya’ don’t actually want it, it’s, uh…s’just a gag, i—”

You pluck the date right out of his bony fingers and take a big bite. The chewy skin of the dried fruit gives way to sugary sweetness on your tongue and you smile up at him.

Knowing your luck, you’ve got a dark shred of date wedged somewhere between your teeth now and you look totally ridiculous.

“This is really _sweet_ of you,” you say. “Was this your first idea?”

“………heheheh, uh…yeah, might’ve been…”

You finish off the fruit and lay your hand on his arm. “Trust your instincts, Sans, you’re doing fine. Now, I think we’ve got a movie to catch?”

Sans smiles at you. You think you see some relief in it, but mostly he just seems…happy.

It’s a _really_ good look on him.

“yeah,” he says, slinging his arm around you almost casually. “i scoped the place out already, so, uh…shall we?”

“You’re the one who has to warp us through space-time,” you tease. “I think you get to decide when we ‘shall.’”

“humans,” Sans scoffs, pulling you forward with him off your porch. “just ‘cause ya’ can’t rip through spatial voids from point a to point b, ya’ think it means you’re entitled to the skeleton express?”

Considering you’re now standing out in front of a movie theater a considerable number of miles away from your house in the time it’d taken you to blink? You’re inclined to say yes.

What you say instead is, “Well, I pre-purchased the tickets, so…”

“oh, alright, we’re even, then.”

Sans backs away from you a step. It’s not very far but you already wish he’d pull you back up against him.

You don't know how a skeleton can be so _warm,_ but you’re pretty sure it has something to do with magic. Honestly, you don’t really care beyond the fact that you just like being in hug-proximity to your skeleton.

…Is it too early to be calling him _your_ skeleton?

You’re definitely dating, even if this is just the first one. You’re glad you established that right away, but you hadn’t exactly discussed terms of affection and the rules therein…

Was he your _bone_ friend? Your verte _bae_? Title _tibia_ decided?

You think you’ve got a fifty-fifty shot of making Sans bust a rib with your musings, but since the other fifty has the possibility of getting him all flustered when he’s already predisposed to easy flustering, you keep them to yourself for now.

You redeem your tickets at the counter and wander into the theater lobby with Sans at your heels, determining not to worry about it too much.

Like everything in your relationship with Sans so far, you feel like the best thing to do is take things as they come and just…do whatever feels right at the time.

 _It’s gotten me **this** far, after all,_ you think.

“crowded,” Sans murmurs somewhere above you, and you look around.

It’s…not? Not really?

There’s a smattering of people milling around the lobby, a line for the concessions, some kids screwing around with a cheap arcade game to pass some time before their movie… There’s people, sure, but you’d hardly call it ‘crowded.’

In fact, considering the time and day, you’d actually expected a lot _more_ people would be here than there are.

But maybe Sans has a different definition of what ‘a lot’ of people is. He’s certainly looking a little tense again, hunching his shoulders like he’s trying to seem smaller and edging closer to you the way he does at the shelter sometimes, when you’re in the same room as another group of people that he doesn’t know as well as he knows you.

You don’t think you have the words for how cute you think it is for a skeleton as big and (superficially) terrifying as Sans to be all but hiding behind you, like _you_ were the one who could protect the both of you if some shit went down.

It gives you an impulse, something that feels like it would be helpful, so you go for it.

Do what feels right…right?

You grab at Sans’ hand, taking it in yours. It’s huge and a little awkward to manage—you kinda end up holding more of the base of his _thumb_ than his actual hand—but you make it work.

You give the rough bones in your grasp a good squeeze and by the way Sans looks at you, you can tell you have his full attention.

“You wanna get in line for some snacks?” you ask him with a conspiratorially raised eyebrow. “It’s all grease and butter and garbage and Pap’s not here to guilt-trip us.”

Sans stares at you for a moment.

“…oh jeez,” he chuckles eventually. “livin’ on the edge tonight, huh? well, if it’s what my date wants, i guess i have no choice…”

He’s only a _little_ bit blue in the cheeks as he walks to the line with you, and his fingers are stroking lightly over the back of your hand so you think you’re doing alright.

You decide pretty quickly that you want to keep Sans’ attention on you. Aside from the obvious, selfish reason that you just _really_ like the way he looks at you, you think it’s for the best that you keep his focus off the other people in the place.

If he was on edge just _seeing_ all of them in here, you don’t want to imagine how much more skittish he’d get if he realized how many of them were actually looking at the two of you.

Most of the theater patrons are human, of course, and a monster in a public space is still something of a novelty.

You can tell right away that it’s not bad attention—just the same kind of background, ‘oh, look at that’ that you sometimes get when you’re out to lunch with Sans, but _often_ on your doggy-dates with Buddy and Papyrus.

Something about the presence of a dog made absolutely anyone seem approachable and you’d lost count of how many times Papyrus had happily told a young lady that she could _certainly_ give Buddy a pet under the guise of wanting to see the giant skeleton up close, or have some filter-less children ask him if he was real or if they could touch him or a million other slightly insensitive yet completely innocent questions.

Ever the social butterfly, Papyrus enjoyed the attention and would probably answer questions and pose for pictures for hours if you let him, but you knew quite well that Sans was much more of a wallflower than his brother; at least _these_ days, and around humans.

It seemed to you that between your nice outfits and your joined hands, it should be obvious to all of _these_ humans that you were on a date right now and weren’t really interested in chatting with strangers.

A human and a monster on a date together was its own sort of novelty, you _did_ realize that, but you like your odds tonight on what is usually a very dangerous gamble: trusting your fellow humans to have some decency and sense.

The difference is that nine times out of ten, they _will_ when a monster’s involved. Most figured they a hard enough time Underground and didn’t need any extra hassling.

…Again, excepting the presence of a dog. A sufficiently cute dog could and almost always _did_ wipe at least one nearby human’s brain of all thought but a heartfelt gasp and ‘wanna pet!’

There were many reasons Buddy had not been invited on this date. That was but one of them.

You focus on the task at hand, gesturing for Sans up at the illuminated menu above the concessions counter. “Anything sticking out for you?”

“it all looks like trash,” he says flatly, “and i would be _overjoyed_ to cram absolutely any of it into my face right now.”

His deadpan tone startles a laugh out of you. “Trying to protect your ‘garbage can’ title?” you guess.

Sans sighs. “Pap’s on a tofu kick lately. i like tofu. i really do, i ain’t picky. but damn it, i got needs, y’know.”

“Oil and salt? And probably ketchup?”

“you _get_ me,” Sans nods seriously, appreciatively. “he acts like i’m committin’ high treason tryin’ to give it a little flavor, but i’m goin’ through withdrawals over here…”

You snicker a little, imagining the look on Papyrus’ face as he sets the equivalent of a five-star meal in front of his brother only for him to try to drown it in tomato goop.

(……Tofu was…not your food of choice. You can’t unequivocally say you wouldn’t try to do the same thing.)

You’re nearing the front of the line, though, and you feel a cocky smirk twist your lips.

“Don’t worry, babe, sugar-human’s got you covered.”

Your timing is perfect: that one casually delivered 'babe' manages to stun Sans totally silent (and very blue) while you place your order for about half of the overpriced concessions they have—a jumbo popcorn and drink, a hot-dog, two orders of nachos, and a box of candy—and tug him off to the side to wait.

 _Guess I don’t need an answer for that pet-name question,_ you muse glibly.

Sans eventually regains his ability to speak. “aw, hey, ya’ didn’t have to do that for me…”

You feign a look of surprise. “Oh, shoot, did you want something, too?”

That makes him laugh a little, but he still seems self-conscious.

Not on your watch!

“It’s date-night, Sans,” you tell him fondly. “You splurge a little, it’s what you do. But hey, if you’re worried you’re getting off too easy…you’re not.”

Your food is starting to pile up on the counter now, waiting for you to grab it and be off.

“…alright, i’m scared now. what’s the catch?”

“You, sir,” you proclaim, letting go of his hand to shove the drink and popcorn at him, “have to _carry_ some of it.”

Sans groans in frustration hilariously disproportionate to the ease of his task. “aw _man_ , how come?”

“Because you can actually hold those things in one hand each. I don’t exactly have _both_ of mine to spare!”

You yourself have the hot-dog stacked on top of the candy which is on top of the nachos. It’s not _quite_ precarious, but it certainly would be if you were trying to balance a couple of tubs in the crooks of your arms at the same time.

“i guess,” he sighs, all put upon and reluctant. But then he grins at your little pile of junk. “good stackin’ skills, though. knew there was a reason i liked you.”

You snort. “Are those your dating standards?” you wonder. “Must love greasy food, good at stacking?”

“what else is there?”

You’re both laughing as you head over to your theater, but none of your precious booty is spilled. Maybe there really _was_ some merit to being part of a couple with advanced stacking ability.

-

You pick a seat towards the back, way up under the projector. It’s a good area for not having to crane your neck just to see the screen, and you’ve always been of the opinion that obnoxious people in front of you is better than obnoxious people behind you.

Bad experiences with seat-kickers and soda-spillers, maybe.

Sans seems pleased with your choice and settles in beside you while you work out the snack distribution. You don’t really care about much beyond getting your fair share of the nachos and more than two sips of the giant drink, which seems to delight Sans even further.

He at least promises to allow you to eat whatever you can scavenge from him and swears you definitely _won’t_ lose a finger if you reach over to his side for some popcorn.

You were only slightly worried about that, having seen the speed at which he inhales fries and burgers, but you appreciate the assurance anyway.

Sans doesn’t _quite_ end up relaxing until the lights in the theater dim and the previews start up. Once you’re in the dark and all the other humans—mostly couples like you—have their attention firmly on the screen, you see the dull red glow of Sans’ eye turn towards you and you look over.

He’s smiling at you, like he’s just…happy to be here with you, and your heart melts a little in your chest.

It liquefies entirely when he leans over and presses his teeth to your cheek with a kissy-noise.

Your face is burning hot and it’s an immense test of will to keep from uttering some sort of pterodactyl screech as Sans chuckles in your ear, all low and husky.

“you’re cute,” he murmurs and you almost hit him in the arm.

“ _You’re_ cute,” you hiss back at him. “Shut up!”

The previews are pretty decent. There’s some kind of sci-fi thing coming up with visuals that Sans practically drools over, and a superhero film that you both unanimously agree you’re going to have to drag Papyrus to, and a couple other things that are just attractive people making dramatic faces on a very large screen and that’s about all the merit they could possibly have.

The movie itself ends up being exactly what you expected: cheesy and clichéd, but a feel-good movie is a feel-good movie and it’s a nice way to spend an hour or two.

Early on, the rich male lead’s friend scoffs at his interest in the middle class leading lady and says she could never be with him. Under the pretense of getting a fast and dirty run-down from you of human economic class divisions, Sans wraps his arm around your shoulders again and leans over into your space and just sort of…never pulls back.

Naturally, you don’t complain. You’re exactly where you want to be, right up close with Sans; cuddling but for the armrest and the cup-holder for your giant soda between you.

It also makes it easier to trade whispered commentary back and forth as the star-crossed lovers on screen have a whole host of mishaps and near-kisses and misunderstandings ranging from comedic to played straight.

Sans nods off a little once, somewhere in the middle. You don’t really blame him, it’s during the classic ‘wandering in the rain to sad music’ interlude and you kinda wish you could nod off yourself. You actually feel bad when you jostle him awake again trying to reach the box of candy on his other side.

“mmm, shit, sorry,” he mutters, his voice gravelly as he shakes off the sleep and hands you the sweets. “what’d i miss?”

“Nothing, seriously, don’t worry about it.” You wrestle with cardboard and plastic as quietly as you can and pop a candy into your mouth. “He’s gonna give up his inheritance to be with her, the money’s not important, he just wants her.”

As if by some divine interference, the actor chooses exactly that moment to shove something off of his father’s desk and yell, “I don’t care about the money, don’t you get it?! I want _her_!”

Almost in unison, you and Sans cover your mouths to keep from completely losing it. For the next couple of minutes, you have to avoid looking at each other directly or the giggling starts up again.

Your struggle is _real._

The happy ending comes eventually, of course. The couple gets married and thanks to a gift from the man’s eccentric, free-spirit aunt, they get to have a dream wedding and a fun little dancing scene where the loveable sidekick is introduced to a smoking hot heiress so everybody ends up paired off and smiling as the camera pans up to the starry night sky and then fades to black so the credits can roll.

It’s a movie you (and everybody else in the world) have seen a million times over with little variations each time, but you can’t deny that there’s a certain charm to it, even through the predictability.

Sans seems to agree. “that was cute. i liked it.”

You laugh as you gather up your trash and head for the exit with him. “I thought you would, you big romantic, you.”

“who, me? i’ll have you know i don’t have a single romantic bone in my body.”

“ _That’s_ a lie.”

“you’re right,” Sans winks at you, “they’re _all_ romantic.”

Sans settles one of his big hands on your hip, tugging you close to his side again and you grin and flush at the same time.

You’ve definitely accomplished your goal of loosening Sans up a little: he’s _never_ flirted with you this hard before and you really kind of love it.

“I liked it too,” you admit. “I’m a sucker for a happy ending.”

In fact, you think this date is going to have one, too.

When you’ve thrown away your trash and had a quick bathroom break and chatted a little bit more about the movie, Sans shortcuts you back to your house and you stand out there with him in the cool night air.

“I had a good time tonight,” you say. It’s cliché but true and it makes Sans give you a little lopsided smile that you adore on sight.

“heh, me too…”

“There’s just _one_ little thing I think I’d have changed.”

Sans’ expression falls a little bit. “uh…”

You reach up toward him as sweat beads along his skull, grabbing him by his tie…

…and loosening it until it slips right off his neck and into your hands.

“You look good dressed up, don’t get me wrong,” you say, smirking at him. “But…you really don’t have to try so hard to impress me.”

“………i don’t?”

You chuckle. “Come on, Sans, _how_ long have we been friends? I know you: you’re a greaseball skeleton in a torrid love-affair with your ratty, old hoodie. _That’s_ the guy I asked to date me and I’m not gonna be offended if he’s the one who shows up.”

You should stop there. You _really_ should.

But you just can’t resist.

“No matter _what_ Papyrus’…‘Dating Manual’ says.”

Sans looks utterly mortified. He actually winces and covers his face with his hand.

“oh crap, you heard that…?”

“Yeah…and I went on the date with you, anyway. And it was so great that I want to ask you on the next one.”

His eye-light peeks at you hopefully from between his fingers. “…yeah?”

“Definitely. I’m thinking a little less people-y, a little more sedentary.” You shoot him a sly little wink. “And I’m thinking I want you there in fuzzy slippers. How’s that sound?”

If Sans was grinning any wider, you think you’d be worried about his skull cracking. “heheheh…sounds great.”

“Great! Good night for now, Sans.”

“good night,” he returns as you slip back into your house, shutting the door behind you.

You lean back up against it as soon as it clicks. You’re smiling pretty wide yourself but you think it’s understandable.

Stars, you feel _giddy,_ you gotta get ahold of yourself, but you just had a _very_ nice date with a _very_ nice skeleton and it’s hard to just shake that off.

Especially when he’s abruptly right in front of you.

You gasp, startled, and straighten a little as he leans in close to you. “Sans? What—”

His fingers curl around the tie you have wrapped around your hand.

“couldn’t just let’cha keep my tie, ya’ little thief,” he grins, dragging it slowly out of your grasp. “an’ i forgot somethin’.”

You blink up at him, confused. “What’d you forget?”

“this.”

He gets closer, pressing his skull against you and giving you a good, long nuzzle. He’s so warm and his bones are so soft and smooth where they rub affectionately along your lips and cheeks…

You have to admit, this is _really_ growing on you.

You return the gesture with nuzzling and kisses of your own, but when you lay your hands on his shoulders, Sans pulls away.

He looks like the dictionary definition of the cat who got the cream.

“okay,” he says easily. “that was all. i’ll see you next time, yeah?”

It takes you a second to answer. “Y…yeah…”

Sans’ smile just widens. “cool. text me.”

And then he’s gone, just like that. You’re alone in your house again, just you and the pretty little flower you’d left behind before your date.

You pick it up and look at it.

Papyrus may have picked it out—probably grown it himself—but it was a very thoughtful gift.

It’s almost the exact same shade of red as Sans’ eye-light and now that the skeleton himself isn’t here to compete with it, you’re actually finding it hard to look away from such a beautiful splash of color.

There’s a window in your room right next to your bedside table. You think it should get plenty of sunlight there, and seeing it first thing in the morning will be a great reminder.

You can hardly wait to text Sans to plan your next date.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> .........so does anyone remember that bit where I said like 3 more chapters? I, uh. I did some outlining and one of those chapters became 4. So from this point on, it's more like 5 more chapters. And if I can, I'm hoping to find somewhere to wedge one more chapter in because if I do, we're rounding this out at a nice even 15 instead of 14 chapters and the number just looks better. XD
> 
> Sans may have no idea what kind of flower he gave you, but Papyrus might tell you it's an [amaryllis](https://extension.umn.edu/sites/extension.umn.edu/files/styles/caption_medium/public/red-pearl-400.jpg?itok=OOIz-Bqj)! It's symbolic of hard-won achievement, beauty, and worth beyond beauty, but what would either you or Sans know about any of that? ;3
> 
> Thank you for reading, everybody, and I have a [tumblr](https://popatochisssp.tumblr.com/) now if you want to stop by over there and say 'hey'! :D


	10. Familiar

“Papyrus…Pap, honey, I _need_ you to slow down, I cannot understand a _word_ you’re trying to say to me right now and I’m a little bit distracted already!”

A near-frantic phone call from your friend in the middle of trying to get ready was…not really something you were prepared for.

But it was definitely what you were getting.

You had your phone awkwardly wedged between your ear and your shoulder as you hopped a bit, trying to get your pants on and praying not to trip and break something in the process.

There was a deep breath on the other end of the line, and then, _“I Am **So** Sorry,”_ Papyrus said emphatically.

From the conviction in his voice, you knew he meant it, but…

“For what?”

 _“I Couldn’t Stop Him,”_ he cries dramatically as if you hadn’t spoken at all. _“He Was Too Fast For Me, The Slippery Snail! I Need You To Know That I Tried, I Really Did! He **Refused** To Listen!”_

You got your pants on with a little burst of triumph. “I still have no idea what we’re talking about, Papyrus,” you admit.

You take a glance at yourself in the mirror and decide not to bother too much with your hair. It was just going to get squashed and mussed under the hat you were going to be wearing, but you thought you looked pretty good so far.

Shoes, though, you still needed shoes…

 _“Sans,”_ Papyrus says. _“He’s…He’s…He’s Not Wearing Date-Clothes…!”_

“Oh.” Your shoes are on and you have a second to process Papyrus’ words. Naturally, they make you laugh. “Jeez, Pap, is that all? You had me worried something was really wrong!”

 _“It Is!”_ he insists, very loudly. You pull the phone away from your face and can still hear him, so you go for broke and switch to speakerphone as he continues. _“The Sheer Disrespect! To **You**! His Datemate! How Are You Supposed To Know He Cares If He Just Shows Up In…In That Terrible Hoodie And Some Old Bunny Slippers?!”_

You’re struck with a thrill of delight. “He has bunny slippers? He’s wearing bunny slippers for our date?”

_“Yes! Why Do You Sound Happy?! This Is Horrible!”_

“Not really,” you chuckle, digging out one of your nicer coats to match your hat. “I _asked_ for hoodie-and-slippers.”

There’s a drawn out silence.

 _“I’m Sorry, You Did **What**?”_ Papyrus demands.

Stars, he sounds so _offended._

“I told him to wear some slippers this time around.” The pearl-clutching dismay from Papyrus is nearly audible and you feel compelled to explain yourself. “C’mon, we _both_ know Sans isn’t a ‘formal’ sort of guy. What’s he gotta dress up for?”

_“For You, You Ridiculous Human! That’s How It’s **Done**! He’s Going Over There Smelling Like Ketchup And Laziness And You’re **Fine** With It?!”_

“Maybe I _like_ the smell of ketchup and laziness.”

_“……I Am Deeply Concerned About You, Human.”_

It’s too much of a struggle _not_ to laugh at that, so you don’t bother to try.

“Look, Pap, I gotta go. I mean, I only have…” Shit, you had no idea what time it was. “When’s your brother coming over, do you know?”

Papyrus sighs deeply. _“You Really Were Distracted! I Told You Already, He Left! Slipped Right By Me Before I Could Stop Him!”_

…Sans had left already?

……He could teleport.

_………Crap._

You turned and sure enough, Sans was there, lounging in your recliner with his arms folded behind his head. He was grinning so wide that he looked positively giddy, his eye-light bright with amusement and you felt your face heat.

He gave you a wave and a wink that absolutely did not help.

 _“Ugh, Alright, Well…While I Completely Don’t Understand You At All,”_ Papyrus continued, oblivious to your distress, _“You Are My Very Dear Friend And He Is My Lazybones Brother So…I Hope You Have A Successful…Casual…Date. I Guess.”_

Silently, Sans sits up a little, gesturing with a finger for you to come closer. He looks like a skeleton with a plan so you do, even as Papyrus just keeps talking over the phone.

_“There’s No Accounting For Taste, I Suppose, And I Should Have Already Known You Were A Bit Unconventional, But—”_

There’s a flash of pink from Sans’ sleeve and then suddenly, _very_ loudly…

PFFFTTHHHBBBFFFFFFFFTTTT…!

It’s dead silent when the rude noise finishes…until incredulously, Papyrus shouts, _“You Brought Your **Whoopie Cushion** , Sans?! **Oh My God!** ”_

You can’t help but burst out laughing, bracing a hand on Sans’ shoulder to keep from doubling over completely.

Sans looks like he couldn’t _be_ more proud of himself.

He leans down toward your phone to utter a glib, “bye, Pap,” before hitting the button to end the call for you.

“I can’t…I can’t believe you did that…!” you manage to gasp out between giggles.

“no?” Sans wonders. “huh. must be slackin’, i’ll have to try harder. only the best pranks an’ gags for my ‘datemate.’”

You almost wince at the reminder of everything Sans must’ve heard…and _seen._

“Did you get a good look at my underwear when I was putting on my pants, you peeping tom?” you demand.

Sans put a hand to his chest, like you’d offended him. “what d’you take me for, some kinda pervert? i’d _never_ ogle ya’ like that, m’a gentleman.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “Then how come you’re smirking?”

He shrugged. “i dunno, maybe i just thought the hoppin’ was cute.” His teeth brush against your cheek, a very sweet gesture until he adds, “ya’ look good in blue, though, don’t let anybody tell ya’ different.”

You snort, giving his arm a shove that didn’t even budge him.

“ _Somebody’s_ in a good mood,” you can’t help but notice as you shrug on your coat and hat.

Sans gets up, towering over you again like he always does. You spare a moment to wonder if it’d make you nervous coming from anybody else.

“should i not be? m’goin’ on a date with my best pal _and_ i’m comfy as hell.”

Back in his usual attire of hoodie, shorts, and t-shirt—maybe a little cleaner than normal, hadn’t there been a grease stain there before?—plus the fluffy pink bunny slippers Papyrus had promised, you didn’t doubt for a second that Sans was comfortable.

“……best pal? Really?”

God, how could you _possibly_ be nervous around Sans when he said such sweet marshmallow things like _that?_

Sans’ smile was soft as he held his hand out to you. “wouldn’t date you if you weren’t my best pal,” he says. “round two?”

You happily settle your hand in his, skin on bone.

“Round two,” you agree.

-

Sans didn’t actually know where you’d decided the two of you were going.

He’d been just as much of a pain about it as he was over the beach trip, and for more than twice as long, but you’d successfully kept it under wraps this time thanks to a little trick you’d picked up.

Apparently, Sans had trouble remembering he was supposed to be annoying when you kissed him silent.

Whenever he started to pester you about where your second date was going to be, making up a million dumb reasons why you should really, definitely tell him, you got up on your tip-toes and nuzzled him quiet. It worked every time and he shut right up about the date as if it’d just fallen right out of his skull with the touch of your lips.

…That, or he was gaming you entirely to get more kisses and nuzzles out of you.

Either way, it was a solution that you figured the both of you were pretty happy with and it kept your plans a surprise so you counted it a double-win.

The only downside was that it meant you couldn’t wholly rely on Sans’ teleportation to actually get you there. Since you didn’t really want to drive either, you had to figure out the closest place Sans _had_ been, and then walk from there, which was not nearly as synonymous with the end of the world as Sans would have you believe.

“i was promised sitting,” he reminded you. “if you’re secretly a health nut an’ this is your way of trickin’ me into walkin’ a mile or something, i’m sorry but we ain’t gonna work.”

“It’s not a mile, Sans, it’s a block and a half.”

“wow, breaking up on the second date. this is so sad…”

“Pfft, shut up, come down here.”

Sans obligingly leaned down when you tugged at one of his hoodie strings: smooching had shut him up before and it shut him up again this time, too.

Pressing your lips against a set of teeth was probably never going to be all the way _not_ -weird for you. It was nothing at all like kissing a human, but there was still something incredibly satisfying in it.

Maybe it was just having Sans’ face so close to yours, or the way you could physically feel him relax and lean into you with a sigh or a soft hum, but it was just something…sweet and nice and totally uncomplicated.

Easy affection—you could (and really hoped to) get used to it.

“mmm, alright, i guess we’re still together,” Sans decides when you pull away. “but you better keep those bribes comin’, alright?”

You start walking again, Sans at your side. “You mean I gotta kiss my boyfriend sometimes?”

“this skull needs a little sugar from time to time,” he shrugs. “that’s just how it’s gotta be.”

You shoot him a deadpan look. “Wow, breaking up on the second date. This is so sad.”

Sans laughs, catching you up against his side. “nah, you ain’t gettin’ away that easy, i know where you work.”

“You know where I _live,_ Sans!”

“yeah, that too. an’ i’ll hold your son hostage if ya’ drive me to it, don’t test me.”

“Please continue to hold my son hostage,” you laugh. “Buddy’s too pretty to survive on these mean streets without his skeleton uncles to watch his back.”

“whoa, whoa, hold up, ‘uncle’?” Sans almost sounds actually hurt. “i thought i was ‘dad,’ when’d i get demoted?”

You pretend to think it over. “Hmm…just now. _Arbor_ trarily.”

Sans looks confused for a second. You know he caught the pun, but he doesn’t get it, not yet.

Not until he realizes you’ve stopped walking and you’re gesturing to the big sign you’re both standing in front of, proclaiming your arrival at the local arboretum.

When it finally clicks, he laughs, hugging you closer against his ribs.

“oh damn, that was good,” he chuckles, sounding impressed. “did you plan that?”

_Yes, all night. I actually sat down and studied a page of tree puns so I’d be ready no matter what you said._

“Nah, just coincidence.” By the indulgent smile on Sans’ face, you’re pretty sure he doesn’t believe you, but he doesn’t call you out on it, either. “So what do you think?”

Sans considers the arboretum. “tree museum, huh?”

“Yeah, more or less. It’s like a really big park, but more educational. People walk around and read signs to learn about stuff while they look at it.”

You figured now was the best time to come here. It was getting colder and colder outside, but there hadn’t been a snowfall yet, so there wasn’t much appeal for the general populace to visit. Not too crowded and the open sky above you—you’d wanted at least one date with Sans like that ever since…

Well, honestly, probably ever since you took him to lunch that first time and saw that enraptured expression of muted awe he wore whenever he had the blue sky over his head instead of a ceiling.

You weren’t sure he got as many opportunities to just _look_ at things like that when he was outside as he deserved, and if you could facilitate one, it would be your genuine pleasure.

Sans sucks in a breath through his teeth, though. “see, i’m hearin’ that word again. the ‘w’ word…”

“Hey now, I said _people_ walk around, not that _we’d_ walk around.”

“……what are we if we’re not ‘people’?”

“In the words of your brother? We’re lazybones, and what lazybones do at an arboretum is find a nice bench and look at stuff from there, no walking required.” You paused a second, before amending, “Well, maybe just to hit up the café by the gift shop for some hot cocoa or a donut. But that’d be about it.”

Sans takes a second to process your words and his eye-light…wibbles?

You have no idea what that means, you’ve never seen it do that before, but it seems to stabilize pretty quickly back into the big red circle you’re used to.

And then Sans is grinning at you like he couldn’t be fonder.

“sounds like a real _tree_ t,” he quips. “can’t be _leaf_ i thought we’d only be stayin’ together for the kid. _fir_ got how much we had in common.”

You were ready, you’d studied. “Don’t get _sappy_ on me, you’re gonna make me ch _oak_!”

Sans laughs. “yeah, _yew_ an’ me are gonna do just _pine._ c’mon, let’s go already, before all the good sittin’ spots are taken.”

“You really think it’ll be that _poplar_ today?”

“y’know you’re not gonna _stump_ me, right? you _maple_ an all-nighter tryin’ to _branch_ out, but if you’re actually fixin’ to beat me at my own game…you’re makin’ a _grove_ mistake.”

Oh, you know. If there’s one thing Sans is quick with, it’s his punning and you’re still only an amateur.

But you also know that telling bad jokes and getting laughs is one of the greatest joys of Sans’ life. You can see that plain as day every time he makes you snicker over a cheesy bit of wordplay and his whole expression brightens with delight.

You _love_ to see Sans happy and you don’t care for one second if that means you’re going to ‘lose.’

“No competition,” you assure him, slipping out from under his arm to head inside the arboretum. “Just a _frond_ ly little back-and-forth. Besides, I can’t _spruce_ up my punning skills if I don’t practice… _wooden_ you agree?”

Sans follows you, looking just as pleased as you’d hoped to see him. “fair enough. guess i’ll stop bein’ a _birch_ about it, then.”

“No, you won’t.”

“nah, probably not.”

-

True to form, the two of you hit the café first. You get a hot drink for yourself and some pastries to share with Sans and then go scope out the sitting areas.

Some of them, the ones near the main building or some sort of arboretum-sponsored attraction, are a little too crowded for either of your liking, especially since you’d promised ‘less people-y’ in addition to the sitting.

No matter how neat the colorful stack of gourds and pumpkins in a giant cornucopia looks, there’s just _way_ too many children scampering around it for it to be the right spot.

You let Sans decide.

After he shortcuts around the expansive acreage of the place to check out all your options, he ends up plopping you down on a bench with a view of a little pond and some trees that haven’t yet shed their leaves and still had some bright oranges and yellows to look at.

It’s a very nice spot, very scenic and quiet.

And for a good long while, you do nothing but sit there and relax with your drink to warm your hands and the skeleton you’re nestled against to warm the rest of you.

Just…looking at nature isn’t something you usually do. Whenever you’re outside, it always feels like it’s for a purpose: you’re walking a dog or going to work or…trying to _get_ somewhere else and being outside is just a necessary part of that.

But right now, there is no purpose. You’re just outside. There’s nothing you need to be checking the time for or focusing your attention on, just you and Sans and some scenery and you feel yourself relaxing at the thought.

“s’incredible,” Sans murmurs eventually, and you follow his gaze.

He’s looking at the pond; more specifically, the reflection _in_ the pond. You can see the gray, cloudy sky and some of the vibrantly colored trees in its glassy surface, broken only by the occasional ripple.

You’re a little embarrassed to admit your first thought is surprise. It’s pretty, but you don’t jump to ‘incredible’ and you quickly realize it’s because it’s ordinary for you.

You’re _used_ to things like seasons and flora and daylight because you’ve always had them.

Sans hasn’t even been up here two years yet.

“Nothing like this Underground?” you ask, hoping it isn’t a sore subject.

It must not be, because Sans answers you easily. “nah, not really. nothin’ that changed, anyway. some standin’ water in waterfall, but it was always real dark there. ‘cept for lanterns an’ bioluminescent fungus an’ stuff.”

Your eyebrows raise. “Glow-in-the-dark mushrooms? That sounds pretty cool.”

“yeah, it’s alright, ‘til you’re tired or a little drunk or both an’ you gotta find your way out of a maze of ‘em.”

Well, _that_ screams personal experience. You try not to show your amusement and are probably only moderately successful. “Can’t shortcut when you’re drunk, huh?”

“ill-advised,” Sans confesses. “ended up a couple inches too high once. faceplanted right into a snow poff.”

You give up and snicker. “Bet that sobered you up.”

“yeeeep. i got lucky, nobody saw. don’t think i’d have ever heard the end of that if Pap was around.”

“Your humiliating secret about how you fell down one time is safe with me,” you promise.

Sans huffs out a laugh. “thanks, i owe ya’.”

He watches the pond a little longer and you watch it with him. Now that you’re really _looking,_ it really is a lovely sight, especially when the breeze blows a little red leaf into the middle of it. It lights gently on the water, faint rings spreading out from it and dissipating into the mirrored surface.

You feel…very calm, right now. It seems so crazy to you now that without a different perspective, this peaceful moment is something you’d have taken for granted without a second thought.

You wonder what your world must look like through Sans’ eye-sockets. It’s a fascinating thought.

“did have some trees down there,” Sans says after awhile. “snowdin, anyway.”

“Really?” That’s kinda surprising. “Magic trees, or…?”

“evergreens,” he corrects. “same as ya’ got up here, someplaces. dunno what kind, couldn’t tell ya’ much about a tree ‘less it was a petrified one.”

“Huh.”

The thought of trees living underground is pretty impressive. At least as impressive as the thought of _anything_ being able to thrive underground, without any sunlight or fresh air or real space to grow.

Your eyes fall on the broken half of Sans’ skull. He told you himself how dicey things had gotten for him, for everyone, but his head wound is visible proof of it.

And he made it, anyway. He was out. _Everyone_ was out.

Your chest feels full with pride and affection.

Out loud, you just say, “That’s pretty cool,” and let Sans assume you’re still talking about the trees.

Sans just hums in agreement and you sip at your drink and watch the pond with him.

Somewhere between the cool breeze and the comfortable silence, you’re actually the one who falls asleep this time. Sans takes your mostly empty drink from you and sets it on the ground, wrapping his arm around you again and dozing off a little himself.

You find this out later, of course, because the next thing you’re aware of is a buzzing against your side that pulls you into a groggy semi-awareness.

“damn, sorry, babe,” Sans mutters above you, digging his phone out of his pocket. “forgot to change that alarm.”

For a second, you’re entirely, delightedly focused on the fact that he’d called you ‘babe’ back, but you register the rest of the words eventually.

“Alarm,” you echo. “Did you need to go do something…? We could cut this a little short, it’s not gonna hurt my feelings if—”

“nah, don’t worry about it,” he assures you. “nothin’ time sensitive. i, uh…just usually do my journalin’ around now. got plenty of time for that later.”

Sans presses his teeth to your forehead.

“rather be with you right now.”

_Awww…_

Still, you sit up a little and scrub at your face. The impromptu nap was nice, and you kinda like that you and Sans are both even now in terms of sleeping on a date, but you’d prefer to be awake for the rest of it.

Plus, he’d just brought up something you’re very curious about.

“You’re still doing the journal,” you note. “It’s going good, then?”

“uh…yeah, actually,” Sans says. “it’s…it’s good.”

“Good. I’m glad.”

That’s all you say on the matter, though.

You can tell by the look Sans shoots you that he’s a little surprised you’re not pressing for more, but it’s not like you need a play-by-play. You’re not even sure you’d _want_ one.

You’re just happy that Sans has found a thing that he feels is helping him in some sort of way: you don’t need any more details than that.

That doesn’t mean you aren’t interested when he tentatively volunteers one.

“i, uh…used to take a lot of notes for. for my job. …the sciencey one,” he clarifies for you. “m’pretty used to keepin’ track of stuff this way so it’s…good. ‘cept…heheh…i, uh, keep doin’ this thing…”

“What thing?”

Sans scratches at his cheek. “used to take notes in a different language back then. a monster language. stopped bein’ able to read it too good after,” he gestures to his skull and the chunk missing from it, “but, uh…apparently that’s not stopping my hands from writin’ in it.”

You stifle a laugh. “Seriously?”

Sans shrugs, looking a little sheepish. “yeah, i’ll…i’ll go back to it an’ have no idea what the hell i wrote. gotta break out a million-year-old dictionary to translate it back an’ rewrite it.” He laughs a little. “s’pretty dumb, isn’t it?”

“I don’t think it’s dumb,” you say. “That’s…that’s actually kinda cool, if you think about it.”

Sans tilts his head at you, not following.

“Well, I mean…come on, _you_ don’t remember the language, but _some_ part of you does. That’s cool! It’s like…it’s muscle-memory without the muscle!”

It takes a minute, but then Sans is laughing and pulling his phone back out.

“Oh jeez, are you writing that down? Don’t write that down!”

“nah, c’mon, i like that, it’s good,” he insists, _definitely_ writing it down. “i like the way ya’ think about stuff.”

“…Yeah?”

“yeah. ya’ always got a good take, i like hearin’ it. different perspective, y’know?”

Hadn’t you just been thinking the same thing about him?

You sigh dramatically. “Okay fine, note it if you must!”

“yes. i must. very important. for posterity.”

“If you had a posterior, I would kick it right now.”

“didn’t know you were so violent. i’m _ass_ tounded right now, the things you learn when you date somebody…”

“I’m going to let that go and turn the other _cheek._ ”

“………”

It felt like so much of your time with Sans was peppered with uncontrollable, immature giggling.

You think that’s a pretty good sign.

-

Soon enough, you decide to head home.

It’s getting dark earlier and earlier now, and the cold may go right through Sans but you’re still a human who’s a lot more sensitive to that and you’d rather not still be out when the sun sets all the way.

It’s a mutual decision to start wrapping up the date, but there’s…some slight disagreement about _how._

“I want to grab another donut before we go,” you say firmly. “Don’t even try to tell me you don’t.”

Sans doesn’t argue that. “so we shortcut to the café, get the donuts, an’ go.”

There’s the sticking point. “We can _see_ the café from here, Sans. We can _see_ it. We are _yards_ away from it,” you say, gesturing to the pavilion ahead of you with scattered outdoor vendors and just beyond, the main building with the café. “It is not that far to walk.”

“so you _are_ a health nut.”

“No! We just don’t need to be literally bending time and space for every little thing!”

Sans sighs. “you sound like Pap…”

“You…!” You realize, abruptly, that you’ve been walking to your destination and that Sans has been dogging you step for step, in spite of his words. You narrow your eyes at him. “Are you giving me a hard time just to give me a hard time?”

The amused look in his eye-light tells you everything you need to know. “maybe a little bit,” he admits.

“……You’re such a _jerk,_ ” you snicker eventually.

Sans winks at you. “ _bone_ afide.”

What a bastard.

This guy is your best friend in the world and it blows your mind how badly you want to go on more dates with him.

“Sans…? Comic Sans, is that you?”

The new voice stalls you, but it stops Sans dead in his tracks.

You peer around him to see who it is.

There’s a vendor standing beside a metal cart with a red and yellow umbrella. She’s a monster, a rabbit with a round face and soft, sherbet-orange fur and eyes that look like spirals.

Eyes that are fixed _firmly_ on Sans.

“……burr. hey.”

“‘Hey’? Is that all you’ve got to say for yourself after all this time?” The bunny…Burr? plants her hands on her hips and glares. “Where have you _been_?”

Sans squirms a little. “mmm. around,” he mutters, painfully awkwardly.

You have no idea what’s going on, but…you _have_ to save him.

“Sans?” you gently interject, drawing attention to yourself. “Who’s this?”

Burr, noticing you for the first time, looks startled.

The look is only more pronounced when Sans introduces you to her and tells her you’re his date.

“and uh…this is burr. we were both regulars at…at a place, Underground.”

“Nice to meet you, Burr,” you say politely, and your words snap her out of whatever shock she’d gone into at the sight of you.

“Uh, yeah…likewise.” She laughs a little, flipping one of her ears back behind her head. “Sorry, I…I didn’t mean to be rude! I just…never thought Sans was the dating type! You were a bit of a surprise, haha!”

You figure that’s probably partially true.

The rest of it might have something to do with the fact that the same monster who’d killed seven humans was now dating one and _that_ was pretty unexpected, too.

But that’s hardly polite conversation.

“No worries,” you shrug, taking Sans’ hand in yours. “I wouldn’t be with this guy if I were real easily offended. Got the whoopie cushion experience just today.”

Burr stares at you for a second…and then she starts to laugh. “Oh, stars, Sans, you still _have_ that old thing?”

Sans chuckles. It’s still a little awkward, but you know that this—jokes, fun, _laughter_ —is his comfort zone and he gives your fingers a grateful squeeze.

“whoopie cushions are _always_ funny,” he says, like it’s a universal law.

To him, it probably is.

He gives Burr a once-over, smiling hesitantly. “it’s…it’s good to see ya’, burr. you look…”

“Sober?” she wonders slyly. “Yeah, I am. Nobody wants to buy from a drunk shopkeep.”

Sans’ eye-light falls on her metal cart and his grin turns a touch nostalgic. “nice cream, huh?”

Burr returns the smile, but on her it looks…sadder. “Yeah. Business is actually pretty good. Bleu would’ve been real happy to see it.”

Oh… Somebody who didn’t make it.

You wisely keep quiet.

“how, uh…how’s the rest of your cousins?” Sans asks. “doin’ good…?”

Burr, however, scoffs. “Oh no, Sans, you’re not getting off that easy! You first, how’ve _you_ been?”

“uh…”

“We all finally get out and you’re just gone, you _and_ that brother of yours,” she continues, looking a little ticked off again. “You better’ve been doing something real damn important!”

Oh boy, Sans is starting to sweat a little. “…Pap’s in nursing school,” he says weakly. “acin’ all his classes but, heheheh, that’s…that’s no surprise, right?”

“And?”

“………i…volunteer at, uh…at an animal shelter?” he tries. He squeezes your hand again, a little desperately. “s’where we met…”

“ _And_ …?”

“…………and. i…got a dog?”

Burr looks unimpressed. “ _Sans._ ”

Sans sighs, grimacing. “burr, look, i…i don’t…i just thought……it’d be better for…everybody…if i wasn’t…after everything i _did_.”

_Aw, Sans…_

Burr shoots you a panicked look, probably assuming Sans was about to accidentally say something classified, and you move quickly to assuage her fears.

“I know,” you tell her seriously. “It’s fine, I know everything.” And to prove it, you pull Sans’ big, bony hand up and press a gentle kiss to his metacarpals.

When Sans turns a faint shade of blue but all he does is nod in agreement, Burr slumps a little in relief.

“Stars above, Sans,” she says, “is that why…? You think we don’t want you around? That we’re…that we’re scared of you or something?”

From your understanding of monster history, they had every right to be: Sans had a higher human body count than any monster, _ever._

From your understanding of _Sans_ , you knew that was probably exactly what he thought: he was such a sweetheart and he _hated_ the idea of people being afraid of him.

If anything could make him ghost somebody—or maybe a lot of somebodies—that he was close with, that would be the reason.

“You _bonehead!_ ” Burr snaps.

Sans flinches, his eye-light shrinking, but the rabbit isn’t finished.

“You did so much for us, Sans!” she says emphatically. “We’re on the surface now, and _you_ got us out. We’re not scared of you, we’re _alive_ because of you, you idiot!”

It sounds familiar. That’s probably the reason Sans grips your hand a little tighter.

Burr sighs. “Look, I don’t…we’ve all got…stuff. We’re all dealing. I’m sure you are, too, I’m…I’m not trying to rush you or anything, if you’re not…ready… But don’t be a stranger for stupid reasons, okay? We’re all…we’re all really grateful. We just haven’t been able to _find_ you to say so, Mister Drop-Off-the-Face-of-the-Planet.”

Sans’ gaze is fixed firmly on the ground. “……okay.”

“That’s the best I’m gonna get, isn’t it?” Burr tsks. “Fine. I’ll take it. But listen, you _better_ stop by Grillby’s one of these days, or else!”

Sans’ head shoots up immediately. His eye-sockets are wide, his red pupil so small it’s almost invisible.

“….grillby’s still… h-he isn’t…?”

“It’s not _that_ easy to snuff out an elemental, Sansy,” the bunny laughs, even as Sans lets out a _very_ shaky breath beside you. “Grillbz is alive and flickering, and his new place up here just doesn’t feel right without you. Bring your date by sometime and see for yourself, alright?”

When you look up at him, Sans looks a little like he wants to cry.

It’s not hard to guess that Grillby must’ve been somebody important to him, somebody that was apparently not as dead as he’d thought.

You stroke your thumb along the bones of his hand and reach over to rub his arm, too. You think Sans appreciates it because he leans into you a little, like you somehow have the power to keep him steady.

You certainly do your best.

“Hey, human.”

You glance over to find Burr looking at you. Her strange swirly eyes are bent upward in a smile.

“You better be good to that skeleton,” she tells you. “He may look like a bum, but he’s—”

“I don’t care.”

Both monsters are looking at you now, surprised, but you hold eye-contact with just the one.

“I was already trying to date him when he was just the sweet funny guy I met at work,” you clarify. “I don’t really care what else he is.”

When you drop his hand to hug his entire arm, Sans laughs. It’s maybe just a hint watery, but he bends down and nuzzles the top of your head, so you think he's probably okay.

“did i have you at ‘hello’?” he wonders. “or was it ‘what shelf is the cat litter on?’” He gasps eagerly. “no, wait, it was a pun, wasn’t it? please tell me it was, lie if you have to.”

“It was your rock collection, actually,” you tell him. “I just really _dig_ it.”

Sans’ eye-light wibbles again. You wonder if maybe it means Sans thinks the thing you said was really funny because he laughs and nuzzles you so fiercely that he almost dislodges your hat.

“Jeez, you two are just sugar-sweet, huh?”

Burr has a paw to her cheek and an expression on her face like…well, like she had just watched a sleepy puppy video instead of you and Sans flirting on your date.

Part of you wondered if you were really that bad, but most of you doesn’t care if you are.

You’re happy: what’s wrong with a little schmoop?

“saccharine,” Sans answers for you, unapologetically. He sounds leagues steadier now, and feeling like you had even a little bit to do with that makes you feel even happier. “we were actually goin’ to get some more donuts an’ head home before ya’ caught us.”

Burr scoffs loudly. “No, no, no,” she says. “No way, you don’t need those overpriced dough-balls! Take some Nice Cream instead!”

Faster than you can protest, Burr whips out a pair of waffle cones and with a speed of a true professional, two perfect looking scoops are plopped onto each and handed over.

You take yours, mostly because you’re too stunned to do anything else.

“Isn’t it…isn’t it kinda cold for something like this?” you wonder before you can stop yourself.

Damn, that was rude to say, wasn’t it…?

Burr just smiles, though, like you said the best possible thing. “Family tradition,” she winks at you. “It’s the _perfect_ weather for something cold!”

“heheheh…yeah, okay.” Sans takes his cone, too. “how much, burr?”

She just waves him off. “Your favorite price, Sansy: on the house. For interrupting your date. It was good to see you, and nice to meet you,” she adds, looking at you. “Hope to see you again sometime!”

“definitely,” Sans agrees. “see ya’, burr.”

When he walks off, you follow after him, holding his arm in yours and your…Nice Cream in the other hand.

You have to ask, as soon as Burr is out of earshot. “You good?”

Sans takes a deep breath, letting it out in a whoosh. “i…yeah, i think i am. definitely…went a lot better’n i pictured…somethin’ like that goin’…”

“Most stuff usually does.” You hesitate an extra second. “Are you gonna go to Grillby’s?”

“………yeah. not, not yet,” he adds quickly. “i don’t…but yeah, i…i probably should. one of these days.”

You nod in understanding. “Okay. Just let me know if you want me to come with. We’ll make it a date.”

A real smile slowly spreads across Sans’ skull, one that he quickly turns away to conceal like you somehow wouldn’t have seen it.

You kind of wanted to tell him to quit being adorable, but you think you might feel bad flustering him quite _that_ much after what just happened.

“eat your nice cream,” he tells you, taking a bite (an actual bite, the maniac!) of his.

You look at the white-blue scoop on top of your cone. “What flavor is it?”

“magic flavor.”

“Come on, seriously.”

“no, seriously, it’s magic. schrödinger’s flavor,” Sans says. “soon as you taste it, it’ll be whatever your favorite is.”

……That sounds _awesome._

You take a lick of your Nice Cream and shiver as what has to be magic tingles up your tongue. Just as promised, you taste your absolute favorite ice cream flavor and…have the strangest feeling that you look _great_ today.

You excitedly grin up at Sans. “Holy shit, you were right!”

“would i lie to you?” Sans looks at you oh so fondly…and then he bends right down and takes a bite out of your frozen treat, too.

“Wh—hey! What the hell?!”

Sans doesn’t even look a little sorry. “hey, know what your favorite flavor is now,” he says, like that makes it completely okay.

“N—you can’t just…! I don’t believe…!”

Sans holds his own cone down in front of you. “you wanna make it even?”

You do, as a matter of fact.

Spitefully, you take the biggest bite you can out of his scoop. When he snickers at you, you realize that the biggest bite you can take is…barely anything at all in comparison to a guy his size and he probably just thinks that was adorable of you.

You’re also suddenly certain that you’re having a _wonderful_ day even as you have to admit that there really is something kind of interesting in knowing what your datemate’s favorite flavor is.

Sans likes salted caramel.

You resolve to remember that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, we finally got some non-skeleton monsters in here! Hiya, Drunk Bun! 
> 
> I know she's not canonically named, but...pretty much everybody else has a pun-name in this game, so I tried to stay as true to the source material as possible and decided to call her Burr Bun. It's a booze pun _and_ an ice joke! XD
> 
>  
> 
> ~~Sorry about Bleu Bun, but he'd be so happy to know his business is doing well, even if he's not around to run it anymore.~~
> 
>  
> 
> And we've also got some Sans getting back into his comfort zone and being able to date the reader with a little more confidence. He's not unflusterable, but he's at least a little more at ease with this whole dating thing. ;3
> 
> As always, thanks for reading! I love all of you and feel free to come say hi on [my tumblr](https://popatochisssp.tumblr.com/) if you want! :D


	11. Stumble

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: mild dissociative episode

Ahh, the best and worst part of your job.

“Careful, sweetheart,” you chuckle, “Princess is a big girl and she’s really excited, so don’t let go, okay?”

“Okay, I won’t,” Andrea assured you, holding tight to the leash with her little hand.

It was a truly adorable sight to see, the bright-eyed little girl with a million-watt smile and curly, grade-school pigtails hugging the neck of a dog twice her size.

You weren’t worried about the size difference.

Princess had been with you for a year and you (almost) couldn’t think of a sweeter, gentler dog, no matter how loud her whiny barks were or how ‘mean’ she looked.

Somebody had finally come in who agreed: Andrea latched onto the pit bull within minutes of walking into the shelter and absolutely insisted she was the one—they could _both_ be princesses, together!

Your heart may have melted, just a teeny tiny bit, when she’d said that, and since her mother was now up at the front desk with you filling out the adoption form, you think you’re not the only one.

Delilah dutifully jots down her information with her neatly manicured hand. The sharply dressed lady had honestly intimidated you a little at first, but when she had smiled down at her daughter and explained that they’d come in to find Andrea’s first doggy, your nerves had settled.

“This’ll be good for her,” she says to you, almost absently. “She’s been wanting a friend.”

“Princess, too,” you agree. “I bet they’ll be besties in a week.”

Delilah chuckles. “Aren’t they already?”

Looking at the two of them now—the hugs and face-licks and the tappa-tappa-tappa of excited claws on the tile—you figure she’s probably right on the money.

Watching the slightly bigger family walk out of the shelter, you barely even feel the pang of missing Princess, knowing she’s going off to a great home and a great life.

…But the pang _is_ still there.

You pull out your phone and quickly send off a text, hoping to alleviate the feeling.

 **You:** Hey, I miss our son, send me a pic.

Sans doesn’t keep you waiting for long.

 **PUNbelievable:** [IMG-54]

The picture makes you smile.

Buddy’s handsome face takes up your screen, his blue eyes wide and sad-looking.

He only ever makes that face when he’s angling for food and trying to look extra cute. It has an embarrassing success rate with you, and you’ve caught Sans giving in more than once, so you know it’s not something Buddy’s going to stop doing anytime soon.

The longer you look at the picture, though, the more you realize…

You’ve seen it before

That’s kinda surprising. Sans almost always sends you new ones, candids of whatever your boy happened to be doing at the time you asked.

Then again…

 **You:** Can’t even be bothered to go find the dog on your day off?

Sans got a lot of days off since he wasn’t…y’know, actually _employed._ He always seemed to use them well, though, for sleeping in or watching a ton of TV.

Naturally, you weren’t about to judge. That was pretty much how you spent _your_ days off on the…very, very rare occasion you took them.

You made sure to tack a winky face onto your text, just in case Sans thought you were mad at him or something.

 **PUNbelievable:** nah sleeping

 **PUNbelievable:** sorry

You smile and add a kissy face to your reply.

 **You:** Don’t let me keep you from your important business! See you later!

 **PUNbelievable:** k

You put your phone away and get back to work.

You’re not sure why you feel weird about it.

-

You still feel weird almost an hour later.

You’ve been granted the great privilege of socializing (read: playing with) a whole litter of kittens while their formerly stray, now spayed mom watches you cautiously. You’re literally covered in adorable, fluffy babies who leap and chirp and fall all over themselves when you shake feathery toys for them and it’s cute beyond words, it really is!

But…you’re distracted.

“I’m being dumb, aren’t I?” you ask the poofy little angel perched on your knee.

He looks at you with his big beautiful eyes and mews, long and high-pitched.

You sigh. “Yeah, I’m being dumb.”

You knew you were.

It was only a text: tone was notoriously impossible to read through text, so getting bent out of shape over one was just…unnecessary.

“Sans just texts like that sometimes,” you told the kitten. “It doesn’t mean anything’s wrong.”

The kitten doesn’t even look up this time, busy kneading at your leg with his sharp little claws, but you think you’re reassuring yourself a little.

Sans _does_ just sort of…text that way sometimes. No punctuation, short words, clipped answers, you’ve gotten it from him before.

Maybe not…since you started dating…but it wasn’t like it was some new thing, either.

It was _hardly_ some sort of sign that Sans was annoyed at you or…or suddenly disinterested or something.

The very thought made you laugh a little.

As much as you still didn’t quite understand what Sans liked about you, he’d made it pretty clear by now that he _did_ like you, kind of a lot. The hugs and cuddles and nuzzles you exchanged near-constantly were proof of _that._

You felt the same way about him, and even though you were now keenly feeling your skeleton’s absence, you also felt a little better.

“He’s just sleeping in,” you decide. “I’ll text him again later when he’s actually awake.”

You shift, moving the hand that’s holding the cat toy and about six kittens try to pounce on it at once. Every single one of them misses, colliding with each other in a flurry of protesting peeps and wiggles.

Stars, now _this_ is what you’re supposed to be focusing on!

You get your phone back out and start recording the play session. Best case scenario, you’ve got something ultra-cute to put up on the shelter’s website, and worst case scenario, you’ve got something fun to send to your two favorite skeletons later.

Only a minute and a half of video ends up being taken. You stop the recording when another text pops up on your screen.

 **PUNbelievable:** i lied

You’re frowning, sitting up so fast that you actually topple a kitten over and it mews at you plaintively.

You scoop it back up and instinctively apologize to it, and by the time you look back, you have another message…and another, and another.

 **PUNbelievable:** not sleeping, bad day

 **PUNbelievable:** didn’t want you to worry

 **PUNbelievable:** shouldn’t lie though

 **PUNbelievable:** sorry

…So…you weren’t being dumb.

You’re not sure if that makes you feel better or worse.

 **You:** Are you okay?

 **PUNbelievable:** sure

Well, that’s not a very comforting answer.

You’re actually a little startled by how powerful the sudden urge to drop everything and go find Sans is.

It makes you feel kinda silly again. He’s your boyfriend, but he’s a grown skeleton, it’s not like you need to check up on him…

…but you want to.

You _want_ to go check on him and make sure he’s okay, even if you don’t _need_ to.

It’s what Sans would do if _you_ were the one having a bad day.

That’s probably why, in spite of the fact that you have about a dozen other actually work-related things you could be doing right now, you herd the kittens and their mom back to where they belong and go looking for your manager.

You find her in the back, doing paperwork that looks like payroll. She greets you, which you return a little hesitantly.

 _Don’t pussyfoot,_ you scold yourself.

The thought only reminds you how much you want to be with Sans right now: you’re still covered in cat hair and a joke about that would’ve _killed._

“Hey, uh…I was wondering if it’d cause any problems if I left a little early today. Like…like a half-day?”

Your manager frowns, looking concerned. “Is everything alright?”

“Oh, no, yeah, it’s…everything’s fine,” you’re quick to assure her. “I just…there was something kind of personal that I wanted to…check on.” The excuse sounded even lamer out loud than it did in your head, and you resist the urge to wince. “It’s not an emergency, I can stay if you need me, it’s not—”

“Would this be a _skeleton_ sort of ‘personal’?”

You freeze like a deer in the headlights at the sly look on her face.

“Uh…I…it might be…?”

Your relationship with Sans wasn’t a secret, but you hadn’t exactly advertised it either.

Or…maybe you had?

The two of you were still new and you could get kinda…kissy. You were under no illusion that _that_ was anything even remotely approaching subtle.

But it’s also just now occurring to you that you never looked up any rules in regards to workplace romances. You weren’t _exactly_ coworkers, Sans was just a really dedicated volunteer, but that was such a technicality.

Were either of you in trouble…?

Your manager laughs in your face. “Oh god, you look so nervous! Relax, you’re fine.”

_……Phew._

“I knew you two would work well together,” she says. “I can’t say I knew you’d work _that_ well together, but I’m not surprised either. You’re a good fit.”

Oh. _This_ is awkward.

You feel your face heat and almost wish you _were_ in trouble.

“Thanks,” you say curtly, eyes glued to the floor.

Your manager seems perfectly aware of your embarrassment and smiles indulgently. “Look, you do a lot of good work around here and that hasn’t changed, bony boyfriend or no. We all appreciate it, but you’re allowed to do things for yourself sometimes, too.”

You look up a little hopefully. “So…?”

“You’ve still got a ridiculous amount of paid time racked up and we’ll survive around here for half a day without you. Go smooch a skeleton. Next time you want to play hooky, though,” she adds, “let me know a little sooner?”

“Right. I will. Yes.” You turn to leave, almost forgetting to say, “Thanks!”

If she says something in reply, you don’t hear it.

You’ve got Sans on the brain and you aren’t going to feel right until you see him.

-

The brothers’ house is quiet when you get there and let yourself in.

You know Papyrus’ routine these days almost as well as you know your own, and you know he’s got a full class schedule today without much time in between. He isn’t home and won’t be until pretty late, but Sans and Buddy are here.

Or they should be, anyway. You don’t get an answer from either when you announce yourself and a quick peek into the backyard shows it’s empty, so you head upstairs.

Buddy’s fluffy black and white head lifts from the floor as soon as you reach the top, his ears perked and his tail slowly wagging at the sight of you.

“Hey, there you are, Buddy.”

His tail wags faster. You notice he’s laying down right in front of a door and think you have your answer about where Sans is.

“You want in?” you ask, walking over. “You wanna see Sans with me?”

Buddy springs to his feet, looking up at the round doorknob—an impassable barrier to his pawed self.

Well, what was the point of opposable thumbs if not to let dogs into rooms?

You turn the knob and no sooner is the door open than Buddy’s scampering inside, taking a running leap up onto Sans’ bed.

Sans is there, too, placidly sitting on the edge of the mattress and you smile to finally be able to see him for yourself.

You hope you’re not being clingy or weird coming over unannounced like this.

You just…really wanted to see him.

He looks alright, at least physically. He’s not really dressed, just wearing a black pair of sweatpants that must be his pajamas, but he doesn’t seem particularly bashful as he looks over at you.

He doesn’t seem particularly…anything at all, actually.

Even as Buddy sniffs along his spine in dog-greeting and lays down behind him, Sans’ skull is entirely blank of expression and that…doesn’t sit well with you.

“Hey, babe,” you say gently, in human-greeting. “How’re you doing?”

“…bad. why are you here?”

You think normally, that frank of an answer might’ve hurt your feelings. But you’ve heard this distant tone in Sans’ voice before.

“I took a half-day. Wanted to see you,” you admit with a sheepish grin.

You’re not sure what kind of reaction you expect Sans to give you from that, but you think you must’ve expected something because you’re surprised when you get absolutely nothing.

Sans just…stares at you, his red eye-light tracking you, but even that looks flat somehow.

_Empty._

You definitely know what this is now.

That time before…when Sans told you everything…he was like this then, too, all spaced out and distant. Back then, you’d only been his friend and had no idea what to do to help him. This time…

Well, you still had no idea what to do, but now you were his datemate. You were _confident_ that it was your place to help if you could…even if you were still just going to be winging it.

You come a little closer, asking, “Can I sit?”

“……sure.”

You sit down next to him. You try for a close yet respectable distance, but almost immediately slide right up against him thanks to the dip his weight causes in the mattress.

Sans may be all bones, but they’re _big_ bones, with considerable heft.

It’s a fact you’re very aware of with most of those bones on display right now, pressing up against your side.

You don’t let it distract you.

Sans seems okay with touch so you reach out, settling your hand on his femur.

“I gotta say, it was kind of a relief to cut out early today,” you tell him. “It was just an overload of cute in there, all day, it was _relentless._ ”

You tell Sans about your day, the saga of Princess and Andrea, and then being swarmed by a ferocious gang of fluffy kittens.

You don’t really expect Sans to interject or respond to you, and he doesn’t beyond the occasional grunt or huff, but he does angle his skull towards you and just sort of…watch you talk.

Whether he’s actually processing or retaining the words you’re saying, you have no idea, but you also don’t think it matters if he is—as long as he’s hearing you and knows you’re with him, you think that’s probably a good thing.

You also think of the other times Sans has texted you, ‘sounding’ weird but with totally believable excuses about why he wasn’t at the shelter that day when he should’ve been, or what he was doing on his day off.

You wonder how many of those times he was actually having an episode like this one and just went it alone.

He let you in _this_ time, though.

You’re _so_ proud of him for that, and so happy that you can be here for him.

“…Oh, jeez, and uh, heads up, Big Boss _definitely_ knows about us.” You pick up Sans’ hand, holding it in yours to convey your meaning. “I got a really awkwardly maternal…pep talk? I think? Out of it, so I guess we’re fine.”

“mmm.”

“She said to go give you a smooch, actually, but…” You wrinkle your nose. “I think our smooching should be on our terms. I’m gonna kiss you when I want to kiss you, not when _our boss_ tells me to.”

You look up at him. He’s still watching you, still blank, but also…still your very handsome skeleton beau.

“My impulse-control is garbage,” you admit, stretching up towards him. “This _isn’t_ from her, okay?”

“okay,” he says flatly, and you smile.

You press your lips to his cheekbone and turn to nuzzle his face a little for good measure.

He doesn’t return it the way he usually does, but he doesn’t push you away either, and when you settle back down by his side, he moves his arm a little so you can get closer.

You feel like a pretty good datemate right about now.

Somewhere outside, a car alarm goes off.

Sans flinches hard at the noise and even when the car’s owner quickly puts a stop to it, he still looks…pained.

“Sans? Are you okay?”

Beyond the obvious _not_ -okay-ness, you mean.

“…………headache,” he mutters eventually.

You have no idea what a headache feels like with a giant hole in your skull. You’re a little afraid to imagine it, actually.

“Aw, how long, baby?” you ask. “All day?”

Sans shrugs, which you take to mean ‘yeah, more or less,’ and you frown.

“Did you take anything for it?”

“……mmn.”

That was a ‘no.’

“Have you left this room at all? Gotten food?”

“…………”

“Sans?” you prompt.

“…no.”

You push yourself up off the bed.

“Okay, well, that’s not gonna fly,” you decide. “I’ll go get you something. Stay here. …Both of you,” you add as an afterthought, pointing at Buddy.

He’s about as settled onto the mattress as a dog can be, so he just looks at you as if to say, ‘who, me?’

“Yes, good boy.” You plant another quick kiss to Sans’ skull, gentle as can be. “You, too.”

And with that, you leave the room.

You feel a little bad about rummaging around in the brothers’ medicine cabinet. You try not to take any particular note of any bone colognes, bleaches, or anti-anxieties and zero in on a monster-friendly aspirin bottle.

A quick skim of the label says it’s best taken with food, so you pop the bottle in your pocket for now and head down to the kitchen to see what you can make quickly with your minimal amount of skill.

On the way, you shoot Papyrus a quick text asking him to call you if he can, noting that it’s only mildly urgent so he doesn’t worry too much if he can’t. You feel…pretty in control of the situation right now, but you also think you’d feel better if you could at least let Pap know about it.

Sans was your boyfriend, but he was Papyrus’ brother and this…whatever this was, probably deserved _at least_ a call.

Their pantry is well-stocked, as always, but pretty much everything in it has more cooking directions on the packaging than you’re confident with. You switch to the fridge, and find tons of leftovers in tupperware—which is pretty much exactly your culinary speed.

You fish out something that looks and smells like stew and almost just nuke it in the microwave…but you decide to use the stove instead. Wasn’t it supposed to distribute the heat more evenly…or something?

_Ugh, more adulting I never learned all the way…_

In any case, pouring the soup into a little pot and stirring it on the stovetop made you feel more like you were doing something; being useful.

Until you’ve got someone who can actually talk back to you, you have to take the validation where it comes.

You bless the universe itself for Papyrus because nearly the second you think it, your phone starts to buzz.

You answer it without taking your eye off the stove. “Hello?”

 _“Hello, Dear Friend!”_ he exclaims, sounding only a tad frazzled. You hear people shuffling about and talking in the background and think he’s probably in a hallway. _“I Have A Brief Lull And I Wanted To Make Sure Nothing Was On Fire. …Or If It Is, That The Proper Response Teams Are Called To The Correct Places!”_

“No, no, nothing’s on fire,” you promise, “metaphorically or otherwise.”

_“Oh, Good, Metaphorical Fires Are The Worst. Second Only To Philosophical Fires, What Do Those Even Burn, Anyway?”_

You have no idea and you tell him as much, “…but listen, I’m at your place. I took the day off ‘cause Sans is…”

Stars, how would you even describe what Sans is right now? ‘Spaced out’ is too light of a description, ‘not himself’ is uselessly vague and slightly ominous…

There’s probably an actual term out there somewhere for this, but you don’t know it, and it’s not as if Sans could really go get properly diagnosed or treated for it.

Luckily for you, this is apparently not Papyrus’ first rodeo, either.

_“Ah. He’s Having A Bad Day?”_

That was certainly one way to describe it. “You don’t sound too surprised,” you note.

Papyrus sighs. _“Sadly, No. These Things Happen. Sans…Goes Away Sometimes. There’s Really Not Much To Do About It, But He’ll Be Back Eventually.”_

“That’s…a little reassuring, I guess.” You frown, remembering the last time you saw Sans…‘go away’ like this, and what he was like when he ‘came back.’ “Is…I mean, should I be worried about…after? The last time this happened, uh…I’m pretty sure a panic attack was involved, that’s not…is that normal for one of these?”

 _“Definitely Not,”_ Papyrus said firmly. _“That Was Probably Triggered By Something Else.”_

Like Sans believing for a second that he’d broken your neck? That would likely do the trick.

_“Attacks Aren’t Very Common For Sans, In General, I Wouldn’t Worry Too Much About It.”_

“Okay. Thank you, Pap, I’ll do my best over here.” Like hell you’d give Sans anything less! “Oh, but hey, I mean…is there anything I…maybe _should_ be doing that I’m not?”

_“Well, That Raises The Question Of What You **Are** Doing, Doesn’t It?”_

“Uh…well, mostly so far I’m just…talking to him…touching him a little, like on the arm and stuff. I got it out of him that he had a headache and hadn’t eaten yet, so I’m…I’m heating up some leftover stew and I got some aspirin to go with it. Is that…is that enough?”

You hear Papyrus laugh over the phone, a soft little ‘Nyeh-Heh-Heh.’

 _“I Don’t Know Why You’re Worried,”_ he says. _“You’re Doing Everything Right. I Have To Go But Clearly, Sans Is In Very Good Hands. I Believe In You, Human! And Continue To Keep The Fires To A Minimum If You Can!”_

“Haha, yeah, okay, no problem, Pap. Go learn some more stuff, I’ll see you later.”

Papyrus is truly the monster embodiment of sunshine…or maybe an energy shot.

You get off the phone feeling re-motivated and ready to take on anything!

You finish with the stew, get it in a bowl, and head back upstairs to Sans’ room where two pairs of eyes are on you the second you open the door.

Well…Buddy’s pair, and one magic red light in an eye-socket.

“Found some stew,” you announce, bringing it in. “Or maybe soup? Is there a difference?”

Your answer is, of course, blank stares.

“Yeah, I have no clue either.”

Setting the bowl on the nightstand for a moment, you fiddle with the aspirin bottle and hand a couple tablets to Sans, who takes them even before you ask him to.

You’re starting to remember from last time how weirdly compliant these…episodes? made him act. You still don’t think you like it, but at least it makes taking care of him a little easier.

Sans takes the bowl when you pass that to him, too, and only spends a moment looking at you before starting to eat it.

Satisfied, you plop back down on the bed beside him, reaching back to give the dog a pat for not being too much of a food-hound right now.

You loved dogs, they were such incredible animals. They could be smart enough to read a room and decide the right time to beg for scraps and at the same time, be dumb enough to get stuck in a couch or bark at their own reflection.

Amazing.

A spoon in your face startles you out of your musings.

You blink at it, too surprised to process it for a second, before turning to look up at Sans. The look on his skull, completely devoid of any of the emotional cues you were used to, was absolutely no help but there weren’t many ways to interpret food being held in front of your face.

He wanted you to have a bite, too.

You smile, feeling warm all over, and accept it—you hadn’t had lunch and you were definitely a little peckish.

It was easier not to think about it when you had Something Important to do, but you’d brought Sans his medicine and his food and with your tasks completed, that rich broth smelled far too tempting to turn down entirely.

Over the course of the bowl, you accept another two or three bites, but turn down the rest.

“No, baby, I’m fine, you finish it,” you say to the last one, patting Sans on the arm. “ _I_ at least had breakfast this morning.”

Sans doesn’t react to your teasingly chiding tone, but he does finish the stew without protest and lets you take the bowl when he’s done.

“I’ll take care of the dishes real quick,” you say, giving him another kiss on the cheek as you go. “Don’t want Papyrus pitching a fit over a messy sink.”

Papyrus probably wouldn’t be too terribly upset if you just left the dirty dishes in the sink to soak. He’d probably also immediately go wash them himself in spite of his gruelingly long day of classes, which didn’t seem fair to you at all. Better if you just take care of it now and then nobody has to worry about it later.

Besides, what else were you doing? It was your day off!

You keep that thought in your mind when you finish washing dishes and come back to Sans.

“Hey,” you say to Buddy, pointing to the floor. “Down, off the bed, down.”

Buddy, knowing at least one of those words, takes his sweet time stretching and shaking off a little before hopping down onto the floor.

More room for you.

You close the window curtain against the midday sun, kick off your shoes and get on the bed, pulling at Sans like you could somehow budge him if he didn’t want to go. “Come on,” you coax, “lay down with me.”

Sans does without question and you arrange the pillows and blanket to your liking before snuggling up next to him.

“I’m gonna take a nap,” you tell him. “Wake me up if you need anything, okay?”

“……okay.”

You’ve got the day off and Sans is taken care of, and while this isn’t exactly the circumstances you’d imagined for your first time sharing a bed with your boyfriend, you’re not going to waste the opportunity to relax and enjoy not being at work.

Sans is like a skeleton space-heater beside you and you doze off to the thought of all the nuzzles you’re going to give him when he comes back to you.

-

You wake up…not quite sure where you are.

There’s something soft and plush underneath you and a big hand stroking so gently and pleasantly over your head that you almost don’t want to open your eyes.

You do anyway.

The hand stills as you look up into Sans’ grinning skull from your new place atop his chest.

“hey,” he says.

You couldn’t explain in a million years _how,_ but from just that one word, you know.

You’ve got your Sans back.

“Hey yourself,” you mumble in a rasp, pushing yourself up a little.

You wake up faster when you feel the strange give beneath your hands where there should’ve been…no, not even bone, there _should_ have been a cavity where you were laying.

So, what the hell…?

………

A pillow.

Sans had actually wedged an entire pillow into his ribcage so you’d have something comfy to lay on while you were on top of him.

“I’m gonna be frank here,” you say. “I don’t know if this is adorable or hilarious.”

Sans laughs and you bounce a little with the movement. “can’t it be both?” he asks. “an’ if you’re frank, who am i?”

…Yep, your Sans was back.

You snicker, planting your palm in the middle of his face. “A jerk, apparently. You’re lucky I already knew that!”

Sans grabs your wrist and you blink in surprise as he holds your hand still so he can nuzzle it.

“i _am_ lucky,” he agrees, his single red eye watching you. “thanks for stayin’.”

Your heart thumps hard in your chest. “I…well, of course I stayed. Where…where else was I gonna go?”

“work, if you didn’t take off for me.” Sans looks mildly chagrined. “i didn’t mean to make ya’ do that…”

You scoff. “You didn’t _make_ me do anything. I wanted to come see you, so I did.”

Sans doesn’t look particularly comforted.

“Hey, come on,” you insist. “You know me, I _never_ take time off, it’s not like I don’t have the days saved up. I got a nap in _and_ I got to see my favorite skeleton, that sounds like a pretty good use of a day to me.”

Sans stares at you…and then he smirks. “m’tellin’ Pap you said _i’m_ your favorite.”

You laugh and pull your hand back from him. It’s an empty threat and you both know it, but still…

“Okay, you’re right, I take it back: Papyrus is my favorite skeleton.”

“aw, i only got to be the favorite for ten seconds? that’s cold.”

“He’s just my favorite skeleton,” you say, folding your arms over Sans’ chest and resting your chin on them. “You can still be my favorite funnybones. How’s that?”

That one takes an extra moment to process.

Sans’ eye-light is shivering again, warping weirdly out of shape, and you’re definitely going to have to start paying more attention to context to figure this out because you didn’t even say anything humorous that time.

No time to think about it now, though, because Sans is sitting up, his arm coming around your back to hold you against him.

“okay,” he chuckles, “okay, just for that, we’re gonna salvage this half-day of yours.”

You laugh a little. “What?”

“c’mon, your first ditch-day in fifty years—”

“It’s been a couple months?”

“fifty _years_ ,” Sans insists. “we can’t just lay in bed all day, let’s go.”

You yelp in surprise when Sans unceremoniously rolls off the bed with you. You’re tensed, clinging to his ribs like handlebars as you wait to thud onto the floor.

There is no thud, of course. It’s a ‘whoomph’ at best when the two of you land on the couch downstairs and Sans starts digging through the cushions for the TV remote.

When he finds it and turns it on, you snort. “So, we’re gonna lay on the _couch_ all day instead?”

“couch date,” Sans shrugs, winking down at you. “it’s my turn to pick, isn’t it?”

…You gotta give him that one, it _is_ his turn.

You roll over to face the screen, snuggling backwards against Sans into the closest thing to a spooning position you can manage. If you leaned your head back, you’d barely be resting it against his sternum, but it’s hardly your fault that he’s impractically huge.

At least you’ve got the pillow in his abdominal cavity to make it more comfortable, plus the decorative couch pillows he graciously shifts around and settles beneath your head and arm.

Sans really is a thoughtful guy, even if he won’t stop giggling about how small you are.

“next time we go somewhere that charges admission, i’m smuggling you in,” he says. “pop ya’ into my ribcage an’ nobody’ll know, two for the price of one.”

The mental image is so _stupid_ that you laugh, too. “I can’t even tell if you’re serious, you actually _are_ that much of a con-artist. For the record, I don’t want to do any crimes, don’t make me do crimes!”

“aww, don’t get worked up about it, i’m just _ribbin’_ ya’.”

“I’m telling you, Sans, the comedy police are gonna get you one of these days.”

He bends down, nuzzling the top of your head. “visit me in comedy prison. bring me a cake with a rubber chicken baked into it.”

“What?” you laugh. “Why? That won’t help you escape!”

“i’ll serve my sentence fair an’ square, the chicken’s to keep my morale up. help me _hen_ dure it.”

You don’t even dignify that with a response.

“hey, if I’m down on my _cluck_ an’ all _cooped_ up…”

_Okay, fine!_

“How about you just don’t go to comedy prison at all?” you suggest. “It’s not _eggs_ actly all it’s _cracked_ up to be.”

Sans’ deep baritone laugh behind you feels like a gift, a hard-won reward after a rough day and it makes something in your chest sing with delight.

You reach back, swatting lightly at a rib. “Pick something good to watch, funnybones.”

“yes, dear…” Sans sighs, but he also drapes an arm over you as he starts to flick through the channels of daytime television so you _know_ he isn’t as put-upon as he’s acting.

There’s not much on, of course: it’s still _daytime_ programming, which is always a little lackluster no matter how many channels you have to choose from, but neither of you is all that picky.

You end up bouncing around from show to show, catching bits of movies here and there. Some of them you recognize and can give some context to Sans about, and others you’re both completely clueless.

Buddy comes down eventually to join you, laying on the floor in front of the couch. You know you’re anthropomorphizing, but you think he looks a tad annoyed with you for disappearing on him the way you did. Luckily, you can reach him from your spot on the couch and you give the scruff of his neck a good apology scratch so you don’t feel too bad about it and your dog-friend certainly doesn’t try to stop you.

You don’t try to stop Sans, either, when _he_ reaches down to touch _you_.

It’s perfectly gentlemanly, of course, with nothing untoward behind his idle petting. The feeling of his hands stroking along your body—your arm, your hip, and just once, a bit of your thigh—is nothing but pleasant and you’re happy to lean into his touch and let him leisurely explore you.

It’s nice, a lovely way to spend an evening and that’s exactly what you do: snuggle and watch TV together until the sun goes down.

-

All three of you look up when the front door opens and Papyrus strides in.

He seems a little surprised to see you but quickly smiles when Sans gives him a lazy, “hey, Pap,” and goes right back to watching TV.

“Hello, Brother,” Papyrus returns, shucking off his messenger bag of books and his fashionable cold weather attire, “Human! I Suppose The Both Of You Have Been Lazing Around All Day While _Some_ Of Us Were Working To Be Productive Members Of Society.”

“Yeah, pretty much,” you freely admit.

“best day ever,” Sans adds, stroking at your arm with his thumb.

He doesn’t turn away from the screen, though, so he misses the little thumbs up Papyrus gives you on the sly that makes your cheeks feel a little hot.

You suppose it could be worse: he could’ve asked for _details_ about why you were spooning his shirtless brother in the middle of the living room, still mostly dressed for work yourself and leaning back against the whole entire king-sized pillow Sans had stuffed behind his ribs.

Papyrus is incredible at rolling with the weirdness, though. The more time you spend with these guys, the more you realize it has to be because he’s seen _weirder._

Truly, a harrowing concept.

“Well,” Papyrus proclaims, “If You’re Both Really Such Loafers, I’m Sure You Won’t Properly Appreciate A Lecture On The Merits Of—”

“nope, already tuned out.”

“Sigh. No Point Wasting It Then!”

Without further ado, Papyrus marches over to the couch and shoves Sans’ legs right off of it.

Sans has pretty quick instincts. He catches you against him so you don’t fall off, too, and half sits up, bracing himself against the armrest.

All he says is, “dude,” but you hear the unspoken, ‘what the fuck?’ clear as a bell.

Papyrus just sits down on the newly-freed couch real estate. He bends to give Buddy on the floor a quick pat and then reaches over to swipe the remote.

“You’ve Had Plenty of TV-Time With Your Human, Sans,” he says flippantly. “If You Insist On Corrupting Them With Your Couch-Potato-Ing Ways—”

“i do,” Sans says emphatically, hugging you more tightly to his chest.

“—Then They Should At Least Be Exposed To Some Decent Monster Culture!”

So saying, he changes the channel. No actual programming is playing yet, but there’s a promo on for the special that’s about to air and you recognize it.

“Oh, Napstablook!” The ghost DJ, one of monsterkind’s most prominent artists since coming aboveground. “I love their music!”

“Ah, You’ve Heard Of Them!” Papyrus seems pleased. “You’re Not Completely Hopeless, After All, Then.”

You feel Sans huff out a breath behind you. “didn’t know blook was gettin’ a televised concert…”

“I Only Just Found Out Myself,” Papyrus admits, “But I’m Happy For Them! Nothing Beats The Showmanship Of The Late, Great Mettaton, Of Course, But That Ghost Can Certainly Mix Some Spine-Tingling Tunes, Nyeh-Heh-Heh!”

It’s quiet for a long moment, save for the sound of the television.

You have the feeling that Sans wants to say something, but has to figure out how first so you keep your mouth shut and let him work it out.

“hey,” he says to you eventually. “new date idea. you cool with changing it up?”

Still in your ‘day off, down for anything’ mindset? “Yeah, sure, whatever you wanna do.”

Sans nuzzles the top of your head again, gratefully affectionate, and then turns to Papyrus.

“hey, bro, we’re gonna go to grillby’s, get ‘em some _real_ monster culture. ya’ wanna come with?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: I promise, I will _not_ end any of the upcoming chapters on a cliffhanger!
> 
> Also Me: *immediately ends the next chapter on a cliffhanger*
> 
> .......Sorry? In my defense, it's not a bad cliffhanger! XD
> 
> Nobody worry too much about Sans, either, he's still doing great! Recovery is just a weird, complicated road and there's not really any such thing as 'fixed' when it comes to trauma. He's still making a lot of great strides and he's got a pretty good support system there for when he needs it. :)
> 
> Thanks for reading, everybody! Stay tuned for Grillby's and come say hey on [my tumblr](https://popatochisssp.tumblr.com/) if you want!


	12. Comeback

“I Can’t Believe You Talked Me Into This,” Papyrus mutters, shrugging his coat back on.

You’re fussing with your shoes, but you smile a little at his exasperated tone. “By ‘talked you into,’ you mean…Sans asking if you wanted to come and you agreeing?”

“Yes! Wily Snakes, The Both Of You!”

That gets you snickering.

“Hey now,” you protest, “I’m no snake, I’m just along for the ride!”

It’d been decided that you would read the directions off your phone while Papyrus drove since it had worked so well last time, and since Sans didn’t actually know where the new Grillby’s was.

Sans himself was upstairs getting dressed and (hopefully) putting his pillow back where it belonged at his brother’s insistence. It was probably for the best, no matter how wonderfully squishy the pillow made Sans’ midsection, or how appealing his broad and sturdy bone structure was without his shirt in the way.

_……Am I becoming the type of person that’s attracted to **bone structure**?_

Was that going to be the first thing you thought of now when checking people out? How nicely formed their spines and rib-cages were?!

You might be a little more concerned about that…if you actually had any plans to check out somebody who wasn’t a skeleton anytime soon.

You haven’t been dating all _that_ long, but you’d been best friends before becoming datemates and this thing with Sans…

It _feels_ serious. You think there’s a real future for you here, somewhere down the line, and that’s…

That’s pretty damn cool.

“Well, Fine, If I Can’t Blame You, I’ll Blame Sans!” Papyrus proclaims. “That Makes More Sense, Anyway!”

Yes, exactly: a long and wonderful future of blaming Sans for things Just Because.

It sounded fantastic already.

“Yeah, I’m on board with that,” you agree, finally getting your own coat on.

“I Don’t Even _Like_ Grease,” Papyrus continues to grumble. “I Already Ate, Am I Just Going So I Can Look Pretty While I Third-Wheel Your Date?!”

“Well, you’re good at the first part,” you chuckle, “but you’re no third wheel. Or if you are, it’s ‘cause we’re a tricycle—we love you, and you already _know_ what date-disasters Sans and I are, it’s not like you’re cutting in on anything _formal._ This’ll be fun!”

Papyrus… isn’t quite looking at you.

He’s putting his gloves on—or maybe he started to, but now he just seems to be wringing his hands distractedly, his posture unusually hunched.

“Isn’t This A Bad Idea?” he asks. If it’s a question, it sounds almost rhetorical with how flatly he says it. “It’s Not Like There’s Anyone There I Was Even _Friends_ With. Maybe…Maybe I Should Just Drive You And Sans Over And Go Home…”

“ _Papy_ …”

Your startled, disheartened tone seems to break through to him somehow.

Papyrus suddenly straightens, standing tall and _scowling._

With a stamp of his foot, he snaps, “Ugh, Stars Above, You’re Right, That Is _Not_ A Helpful Thought Right Now! This Is A _Great_ Idea! _I’m_ Great! This Is Just The Nervousness Talking, I Am _Going_ To Grillby’s And It’s Going To Be _Fine_!”

You’re impressed: the only thing you can see in Papyrus right now is steely determination, a light-speed u-turn from where it seemed his thoughts had been heading.

“Are you sure?” you ask, just in case. You feel pretty comfortable speaking for Sans, too, when you say, “We’d never want to take you somewhere you weren’t comfortable…”

“I’m Positive!” Papyrus puts his hand on your shoulder, gratefully gentle. “It Really _Will_ Be Good To See Everybody Again, Whoever Happens To Be There Tonight, And…And Maybe It’s Not As Bad As It Used To Be!”

Man…Papyrus is _so_ cool.

Your insanely awesome friend grabs his car keys with a jaunty little flourish that makes you laugh and you follow him out to the car.

You trust Sans will catch up whenever he finally gets his coccyx in gear.

The wall of cold air that hits your face as soon as you step outside is unpleasant but you power through it. You know that Papyrus’ convertible has some fancy heated seats you’ve been dying to try out and all you have to do is _get_ to them.

“So, what’s Grillby’s even like?” you ask, making a bee-line for the car. “Or…what _was_ it like, I guess? Sans never mentioned it until recently…”

“Underground? It Was A Total Grease-Trap With No Redeeming Features Whatsoever!” Papyrus unlocks the car and you gratefully duck right into the passenger seat while he joins you on the driver’s side. “Naturally, Sans Was There Pretty Much Constantly!”

You laugh and Papyrus laughs with you before admitting, “Perhaps I’m Not Being Very Charitable. It’s A Perfectly Legitimate Eatery If You Like Oil And Salt—” you do, “—And It Was A Very Popular Meeting Place In Snowdin. Sans Had Lots Of Pals There So I Only Complained A _Little_ When He Skipped Out On My Terrible Spaghetti To Go Eat Grease By The Fistful Instead.”

_Yeah, sounds like Sans._

“Was…Grillby one of those pals?”

“Oh Yes, Of Course!” Papyrus switches on the heat for you, the absolute angel. “Nyeh-Heh-Heh, Actually…It Started When Poor Grillby Made The Horrific Mistake Of Letting Sans Open A Tab.”

“…Oh stars, _that_ was never paid off, I guess.”

“Definitely Not,” Pap agrees, shaking his head in, you assume, shame that he’s related to such a freeloading cheapskate. “But! Sans Liked It So Much That He Talked The Place Up All The Time, Even In The Middle Of His Hotland Shows.”

It takes you a second to remember Sans telling you he took a crack at professional comedy for awhile. Then, you’re grinning at the mental image of him stopping in the middle of a set or interrupting one of his own jokes to gush about a really, really good burger he had the other day.

 _Classic_ Sans…

“Free advertising for Grillby, though,” you note.

“Exactly!” Papyrus taps the ridge on his face where a nose _would_ be and you guess the gesture means you got his point. “He Got Enough Business Through Sans That He Decided Enabling His Shameful Freegan Lifestyle Was Acceptable And That Was That! Their Weird Symbiotic Relationship Was Born, Like…Like A Crab And The Gross, Slimy Algae That Grows On Them For Camouflage!”

He leans over to you like he’s telling you a secret and stage-whispers, “ _Obviously,_ The Gross, Slimy Algae In This Analogy Is Sans.”

“aw, bro, you’re analogizin’ about me again? your heart’s as cold as the wind outside tonight.”

You whirl around and sure enough, Sans is there in the backseat. He’s fully dressed so you can’t tell if he ditched the pillow or not, but he smiles when he sees you looking and gives you a little wink that makes you feel warm inside.

“It’s About Time!” Papyrus says, already starting to drive. “I’m Going To Let That Insult Go, Just This Once, Since It Was Actually Almost Clever!”

“was it? my bad. your mom.”

“We Don’t Have One Of Those?”

“right. your butt, then.”

“Nyeeeh, We Don’t Have Those Either, Sans! Human, _Please_ Give Me The Directions Before I Have To Pull Over And Give My Brother A Serious Thrashing!”

“whoa, Pap, don’t go makin’ any th _rash_ decisions.”

Papyrus reaches back to swat at Sans, Sans dodges with ease, and you pull up the directions and do your best to be intelligible through your giggles.

It’s gonna be a good night.

-

Eventually you arrive in front of a small brick building. The sign on top labels it as your destination, ‘GRILLBY’S’ in big, shiny bronze lettering.

Both of the brothers go quiet when they see it, stopping mid-bicker just to stare at the unassuming little place you’ve pulled up to.

Papyrus recovers first, shooing you and Sans out of the car so he can go find somewhere to park. You can’t help noticing the nervous tapping of his spindly fingers against the steering wheel, but when you go to say something, Sans’ hand settles on your shoulder.

“sure thing, Pap,” he says. “ _ketchup_ soon, yeah?”

“Oh, Don’t Start!” Papyrus replies, grinning despite himself. “Those Tired Puns Of Yours Are…An As _salt_ On The Entire Art-Form! Nyeh-Heh-Heh-Heh-Heh!”

With that, he drives off and you give Sans a questioning look.

“he’s comin’ back,” he promises you, reading your concerns with ease. “he’s just gotta talk himself up to it first. don’t worry too much.”

It’s asking a lot, but…well, you trust Sans, and you trust Papyrus. If they need you to worry about them, you think that by now, they’d let you know.

“If you say so.”

You take another look at the fabled Grillby’s.

There’s a big front window with tinted glass and a big ceramic planter by the door. You can’t tell what sort of plant is in it, though, because there’s a pretty thick dusting of powder from the last snowfall obscuring it, making it droop over heavily. There’s snow up on the awning, too, but it’s faring better than the plant and not even bending beneath the weight.

It looks like a cute place, somewhere you’d definitely have stopped in for a try if you’d ever gone past it before.

“fuck _me_ , it even looks the same,” Sans breathes.

You look up at him. You can’t quite read his expression, but it’s not blank, and it doesn’t seem _bad._ The closest label you can give it is ‘bittersweet nostalgia’ which…well, you can certainly understand _that._

Still.

“You still want to do this, right?” You reach over and grab his hand—you’re getting pretty good at it, even with the size difference you once found awkward to manage—and gently assure him, “We don’t _have_ to go if you’re not ready.”

“……heheheh…never thought i’d see the day _i’d_ have to be talked into grillby’s.” Sans smiles at you, squeezing your hand. “nah, i’m alright. it…it’s been long enough. gotta do it sometime, might as well be now, when i got the cutest cheerleader ever backin’ me up.”

Your heart thumps a little harder. “Aww, _Sans_ …”

“yeah…so soon as Pap gets back, i’ll be good to go.”

“…Sans!” You tug your hand back and give him a whack on the arm. “And here I thought you were being cute!”

“what, brotherly love ain’t cute enough for ya’?” he wonders slyly.

“Pfffffft.”

“aw, heheh, i’m kiddin’, babe, i’m kiddin’, c’mere…” He pulls you up against him, bending down to nuzzle your cheek.

You…elect to allow it.

“for real,” he murmurs at your ear, “i dunno how long i woulda taken to get here without you. you’re a real star too, okay?”

Oh, damn it.

How the hell were you supposed to feign annoyance when Sans was such a _sweetheart_?

“You’re the worst,” you mutter with a smile you can’t restrain, pressing a kiss to his cheekbone. “I regret dating you.”

Sans just chuckles. “that’s the spirit. let’s go before ya’ freeze your nose off or somethin’, huh?”

“I’d prefer to keep my nose, yeah.”

Well, then…once more into the breach, right?

You pull open the heavy door and walk in, Sans right behind you.

The inside of Grillby’s reminds you of nothing so much as a log cabin. The floor and furniture are all wooden, well-lacquered mahogany that seems like it’s seen some wear over the years but was treated kindly enough to last anyway. The flickering sconces all over accent the atmosphere nicely, as does the dark shade on the walls that puts you in mind of a big mug of hot cocoa.

It’s warm and quaint, almost homey, and you feel comfortable in this calm and quiet little pub almost instantly.

It doesn’t stay calm and quiet for very long.

Mere seconds after walking through the door, the scattered monster patrons turn from their food and drinks to see who’d come in.

The lone little human doesn’t seem to merit much reaction, but you spot at least three separate double-takes for the skeleton at your heels and soon the excited whispers and murmurs around you coalesce into one joyful exclamation.

_**“SAAAAANS…!”** _

Sans goes blue, ducking his head with a shy little chuckle that would make you want to pinch his cheeks if they were squishier.

You take a step back as several monsters scurry forward to swarm your date and just observe.

There’s a lizard-man with brown and yellow scales clapping his claws on Sans’ shoulder and a whole pack of bipedal dogs pushing and shoving and barking as they fight over who gets to ‘pet him first.’

A tiny blushing…volcano? sneaks in between everyone’s feet to wriggle against Sans’ tibia cooing, “Ah, so _lovey_ …!” and you have to look away before you burst out laughing.

There’s some more monsters watching the scene like you were— some sort of eel monster trying to start a cheer, but not noticing he’s the only one doing it because he’s already pretty sloshed. Someone who looks more mouth than monster is smacking their vines together in an unusual attempt at applause, and when you look away from Little Shop of Horrors you spot Burr waving a paw at you over a cute pink and blue milkshake.

You wave back with a smile and start heading over to say hi until you’re caught by a familiarly bony pair of hands on your arms and whirled right around.

“heheh, hey, has, uh, has everybody met my date?” Sans says, holding you in front of him like the most ineffective shield ever.

He hurriedly introduces you, calling you his coolest, most favorite human in the world in front of all these new monsters and suddenly, you don’t think it’s the cozy atmosphere in here that’s making your cheeks warm.

Two hand-holding…or, paw-holding dogs start sniffing at you.

“So this is the one…”

“…that Burr talked about?”

_Oh jeez, they finish each other’s sentences?_

That was cute! And proof that you and Sans weren’t _that_ bad!

“Smells pretty nice for a human!”

“We’ve smelt weirder! I’m Dogaressa and this is my hot-dog hubby!”

“She means me!” the other dog says proudly. “I’m Dogamy!”

“Nice to meet you both,” you greet them. “You guys make a really cute couple!”

Their ears perk and their tails start wagging. “Don’t we?” they coo in unison, and oh boy, they’re nuzzling each other now.

They’re obviously pros at it so your feelings aren’t terribly hurt when they seem to forget all about you. It’s hard to have hurt feelings anyway when there’s two other dogs scrambling for your attention.

One is the smallest, foofiest white pup you’ve ever seen, sproinging around your feet, and the other has sandy yellow fur and is just a pinch taller than you.

Now _this_ is your comfort zone: you’re good at dogs!

They don’t seem to be dogs of the talking variety like the other two, and they’re so alluringly soft that you can’t imagine being able to resist petting them anyway, so you just go for it.

The little white puffball wiggles his entire body when you scratch his head and Sans helpfully tells you, “that’s greater dog.”

“Greater Dog?” you echo. “Well, I can see why, he looks like a pretty great dog!”

His poofy tail swishes back and forth happily and he opens his little mouth to bark at you and— _whoa._

That sound was downright _booming,_ you think you may have actually heard some glassware rattling clean across the room from that bark!

“heheheh, nah, _that’s_ why he’s greater dog. his pal over here’s lesser.”

Lesser Dog, apparently, was whining beside you, back paws tap-tap-tapping on the hardwood like he couldn’t wait for you to acknowledge him, too.

“Aw, there’s nothing ‘lesser’ about this guy, he’s adorable!” You pet his head and he yaps excitedly, pushing up into your hand.

Oh…oh, _very_ up into your hand. The dog’s neck is actually _extending,_ physically getting longer the more you pet him.

You’re so fascinated that you just keep petting him until you can’t reach his head anymore. Luckily, with the relative sizes of human-to-monster it doesn’t go too far up, but you have to wonder just how far this elastic pooch could stretch under the right circumstances.

“I’d pet you more,” you call up to him, apologetic, “but I can’t really reach. Sorry!”

Lesser Dog barks, slightly distantly, and Sans snickers.

“he appreciates the attempt.”

The lizard guy approaches you next and grasps your hand very carefully in his clawed fingers, giving it a shake.

“The name’s Dino!” he says amiably, and you’d never expected yourself to be in a situation where a yellow reptile man seemed like the most normal, down-to-earth guy in the room, but here you were. “Burr told us all about you! You must be something real special—I thought I’d be a _grandpa_ before _this_ guy started seeing anybody!”

You’re definitely blushing now, more than a little embarrassed, but by the way Sans laughs behind you as he agrees with Dino, you can tell that your boyfriend is loosening up a little; getting back into his element for the first time in who _knows_ how long.

That makes you a little more comfortable with all this attention, you think, and it’s certainly…flattering!

“Ha ha, thanks! I, uh…”

Your first instinct is to self-deprecate, make it a joke that everyone can laugh about, but…you feel like it would be in bad taste, somehow.

If Sans and Papyrus can try so hard to work on _their_ things, maybe…maybe you can try to work on _your_ things, too.

“I didn’t think he’d say yes when I asked him out, but I must’ve undersold myself a little!” You smile up at Sans, who looks pleasantly surprised that you’re accepting a compliment, and your confidence grows. “I guess I’ve got _something_ he likes!”

“y’wanna know what it was?” Sans asks. This question you _know_ is rhetorical because he’s grinning widely, bursting at the seams to tell you. “i just _knew_ you’d be a good datemate. felt it in my _bones._ ”

It makes you chuckle—you and everybody else in the bar laughing in genuine amusement at the most obvious joke Sans could’ve possibly made.

These were his people, you realized. The ones he’d isolated himself from for two years, maybe _longer_ , and they were finally getting to hear a lazy skeleton joke again straight from the skeleton’s mandible.

This was…this was a really, _really_ good thing.

And you think you can help.

“Don’t lie,” you say, elbowing Sans in the ribs. “You just wanted to date me so you could come back here again!”

It’s obvious that Sans is confused, tilting his head at you. “what’re ya’ talking about?”

That’s perfect. It just makes it even better when you explain, utterly deadpan, “Well, without me, you’d have no _body_ to go with.”

By the look on Sans’ face, you’d have thought you’d just told the funniest joke in the _world._

He breaks into ugly guffaws that spread through the place like a contagion and you just _beam,_ even as he hugs you tightly against him.

“this…” he wheezes happily, “ _this_ is why…!”

“Oh, they’re funny, too!”

“Nice going, Sansy!”

“We might have some Nose Nuzzling competition this year…”

“No, dear, we’re still the champs! Skeletons don’t have noses!”

“Phew, I was almost worried there!”

Pfft, what a funny bunch of monsters… You hope Sans brings you back here sometime, you already kind of love everyone!

-

When the clamor eventually calms down, Sans introduces you to the rest of the crew: the animated little volcano scampering around here and there is Vulkin, the drunk eel at the bar is Franco…

“ya’ already met burr—”

“hiya,” the bunny waves at you again with a little wink of her swirly eyes.

“—an’ big mouth over there, she’s audrey.”

……of course she is!

Before you can even say it’s nice to meet her, Audrey (II) grins almost unsettlingly wide with her gigantic, sharp teeth.

“Come on, now, Sans,” she says, “don’t you think you’re getting off too easy?”

Sans frowns a little. “…no?”

Audrey grins wider. “Your date hasn’t met _everybody_ yet…”

That seems to make the penny drop for Sans, his red pupil shrinking. “uh…well, no, but, uh…”

Oh wow, Sans looks _nervous._ There’s actual sweat beading on his skull, and everything.

Audrey just cackles at him, sadistically amused. “You’re lucky I was nice enough to warn you, Sansy!”

One of her vines reaches across the bar, to the door to the back-room, rapping hard against the wood.

“Hey, Grillbz!” she calls with her impressively loud voice. “Get off the phone, already! You’ll never _guess_ who finally dragged his fuzzy slippers in!”

Oh, that’s right: Grillby himself.

You hear a distant sound, a rapidly surging whoosh until the door nearly explodes off its hinges with a loud _bang._

The noise makes you flinch, but it’s the flaming monster who pours out of the doorway like a deadly back-draft that makes you actually kind of scared.

Grillby has all the presence of a walking bonfire.

He’s a massive humanoid blur of fire, a fire _elemental_ you suddenly remember Burr telling you, and he’s flickering _white-hot_ as he stalks toward you and Sans with purpose.

Not even his charmingly dapper black bowtie or the square-rim glasses on his face could disguise the fact that Grillby was _furious_ right now and ready to unleash hell, possibly literally.

You normally pride yourself on your ability to take charge of situations, especially when it’s to save Sans from something or other, but this time…

_Yikes, babe, sorry, you’re on your own!_

At least Sans seems to be on the same page as you. He steps forward, angling himself in front of you so that by the time Grillby storms up, crackling mad, he’s most of the way between you.

Even with your bony boyfriend as a shield, though, the heat is _intense_ and you start to sweat almost as much as Sans.

“uh…h-heya, grillbz,” Sans says weakly. “long, uh…long time, no see?”

Grillby’s oddly featureless face splits right where you’d expect a mouth to be, pouring smoke and flickering spouts of fire that look almost like fangs.

“No. _Shit_ ,” he snarls and Sans winces.

“i…yeah, i…i know, that’s…that’s my bad, i was…i was sortin’ myself out, for awhile. it…it hasn’t been too easy,” he laughs tightly, awkwardly.

Grillby doesn’t seem moved.

“i needed a little…space, i guess,” Sans says, ducking his head a little in chagrin. He blindly reaches back toward you, a silent question that you’re happy to answer by grabbing his hand and letting him squeeze it. “needed a little…motivation, too, heheh…but i’m…i’m back now and…grillbz, ya’ still look pissed, whatta’ya want me to tell ya?”

“I _want_ ,” Grillby snaps, surprisingly cold for a fire elemental, “an apology.”

“…an apology?”

“For making me _worry_ about you, you _bonehead…_ ”

“eheheheheh…”

You _want_ to tell Sans that it’s maybe not the most appropriate time to laugh and that he should probably give his friend the apology he wants to hear.

But that’s not your business. This is Sans’ business and he has to handle it whatever way he decides to handle it.

You stay quiet and let these two sort it out.

“i just wanna say…in my defense, i thought you were dead.”

…damn, Sans was bad at this.

“We thought the same about _you,_ Sans!” Grillby counters. “You disappear on the surface, who the blazes _knows_ where—the least you could’ve done was let _someone_ know you were alright!”

“………i…wasn’t,” Sans says slowly. “i wasn’t alright.”

Grillby’s flames shrink a little, going back down to shades of red and orange, but Sans keeps talking.

“i _am_ sorry, i didn’t…i didn’t mean to make anybody worry about me… wasn’t, uh…wasn’t sure anybody _would_ …but that’s. that ain’t an excuse. m’doin’ better now, tryin’ to anyway…”

You reach up and give his spine a reassuring little stroke through the padding of his hoodie. You feel him relax at your touch and smile, pleased to be able to help.

Or you are, until you find yourself picked up and set down right in front of the living inferno of a bartender, Sans hands on your shoulders holding you in place.

“h-hey, that reminds me, have ya’ met my human yet?”

_Sans, you **bitch** …_

A little awkwardly, doing your best to cover your nervousness, you introduce yourself and add, “I’m, uh… I’m the unfortunate sucker Sans has conned into putting up with him for the foreseeable future.”

“‘unfortunate’? _ouch_ , what happened to bein’ your favorite funnybones?”

You give him a near-lethal side-eye, quietly snapping, “Says the guy using me as a distraction to avoid talking about feelings with his friend?”

“…damn, yeah, guess ya’ got me there.”

You hear a weird hissing sound and turn back to face Grillby. The elemental still doesn’t have much of a face to go off of, and the mirror-shine of his glasses isn’t any help, but by the bouncing of his shoulders…

You think he’s _laughing_.

“You poor, poor human,” he says after a moment. “You must be the reason Sans finally decided to bother coming out to see us. It’s a pleasure.”

Grillby holds out his hand to you, incandescent and flickering. You hesitate only a second before taking it.

The sensation is…weird.

You can’t really describe it: it’s like you’re holding something that doesn’t exist, heat beneath your palm but nothing painful or scorching, and far less solid than anything you can physically hold should be.

You decide not to question it.

“Likewise,” you say to Grillby with a winning smile and he nods in what you hope is approval.

“Bring him here if you ever need a break,” Grillby says, coolly retreating to his place behind the bar. “We’ll keep him out of your hair for a bit.”

“hey, don’t gang up on me.”

“Don’t make people _want_ to gang up on you,” you shoot back teasingly.

“you tryin’ to hold me accountable for my actions or somethin’?” Sans asks, sounding affronted. “rude. uncool. thought you really cared about me.”

Either he’s joking or fishing, but you don’t think it matters which. You turn around and get up on your tip-toes, tugging him down to your level so you can plant a big, affectionate kiss in the middle of his teeth.

“I do really care about you,” you tell him. “Thanks for bringing me tonight. It means a lot to me.”

The absolute best way to win a sass-off with your bonefriend: fluster him with genuine sincerity.

It works like a charm the way it always does and as soon as Sans realizes what you’ve said, he’s blushing blue again, stuttering as he tries and fails to come up with a smooth response.

He’s saved from looking like _too_ much of an idiot when the front door opens and Papyrus makes his way inside at long last.

“Sans! Human!” he exclaims, shaking off some snow and heading straight for the two of you. “You Would Not Believe How Nonsensically Hard It Is To Find Parking Around He—”

_**“PAPYRUUUUUUUS…!”** _

Papyrus freezes mid-step, eye-sockets wide behind his glasses as he’s suddenly swarmed by Grillby’s patrons almost as quickly as they’d swarmed Sans.

“Hey there, big guy!” Dogamy greets him, Dogaressa hot on his paws with a, “We missed you! Do you have any bones for us?”

Lesser and Greater Dog both bark excitedly at the b-word and Papyrus just looks at them for a second, baffled.

“Oh, I…I Suppose I Could…Spare A Bone Attack Or Two, If—”

“Nonsense, don’t make the poor guy work, he just got here!” Dino slings an arm around Papyrus, the epitome of friendly. “If you want bones off ‘im, you should win ‘em fair and square! Papyrus, we were just about to get a poker game going, like the old days—you want in? The chips are bones on account of all these mutts, so the buy-in oughta be easy for you!”

It’s pretty obvious, even from where you’re standing, that Papyrus wasn’t expecting this kind of reaction at all.

It’s also obvious that he’s kind of _elated_ by it, being the center of attention in a room with so many people in it.

“Oh! Well, That Sounds! Like A Lot Of Fun!” Papyrus admits, his grin wide and only slightly uncertain. “I-I’m Pretty Good At Poker…At Least, Against Sans, I’ve Never Played With…”

He doesn’t finish the sentence, but Dino doesn’t seem concerned, waving him off. “Aw, forget Sans, we banned him from poker, he’s a cheat.”

“hey,” Sans calls over, “if ya’ didn’t want me to take your kid’s college money, ya’ shoulda said!”

Dino makes a rude gesture at him that makes you snicker a little. Sans just shrugs it off.

“C’mon, Pap, play a game or two! If I win, you can autograph something for me, the kid’s been dying for your autograph since we got up here, it’ll make me Number One Dad if I come home with something signed by The Great Papyrus.”

Papyrus lets himself be tugged over to one of the tables, but not before whipping his skull around to you and Sans, excitedly mouthing, ‘autograph?!’

It may have been a trick of the light off his glasses, but his eye-sockets look positively shiny, like something out of an anime.

“Well,” he says boldly with a quick clearing of the throat he didn’t have, “I’m Sure You’re _Delighted_ To Hear It, But I’m…Feeling Pretty Generous This Evening! I Think I Could Be Persuaded To Sign A Few Things, Whether You Win Or Not! Most Likely Not, Nyeh-Heh-Heh!”

“Man,” Dino laughs, “Papyrus, you’re the best! You’re his _hero_ , y’know? That’ll really make his day.”

“Of Course It Will!” Papyrus squeaks the last word and hastily covers it with an imperious, “Order My Usual, Sans!”

Sans gives him a thumbs up and takes a seat at the bar. You join him shortly, having to hop a little just to get up on the monster-sized stools.

“So much for not having any friends at Grillby’s,” you muse quietly, unable to stop your smile.

“If he thought that, he’s just as hard-headed as his brother,” Burr laughs beside you.

“hey,” says Sans, but you ignore him.

“How’s that?” you ask Burr.

“Sansy may have been the Big Damn Hero getting all the souls,” and you can already see the blue glow of Sans’ face in your peripheral vision, “but good ol’ Papy was the one going around to everybody all the time, making sure we were all as fed as we _could_ be in that hell-hole. That really meant something, to a lot of people.”

You can imagine.

The sort of kindness and decency you’ve seen in Papyrus was the sort that deserved to be rewarded. For keeping that warm heart of his, even when his whole world fell apart around him…

Papyrus is the toughest, coolest, _best_ friend you think you’ve ever had. These accolades are long overdue and it makes you so happy to see him finally receiving them.

“heheheh…yeah. my bro’s the _coolest._ ”

You laugh, grabbing Sans’ arm. “I keep telling you, babe, it runs in the family.”

“mmm, shuddap.” He flags down Grillby to avoid looking directly at you and running the risk of flustering himself even more. “hey grillbz, the usual for me an’ Pap an’ a menu for my adorable, cutesy-wutesy wittle human here?”

…Well, now, _you’re_ blushing again.

 _Damn_ , this is a dangerous game.

“I hate you,” you grumble as Grillby passes you a menu.

“lies. lies an’ slander. see anythin’ good?”

 _So_ much.

There is _so_ much good on this laminated sheet that you feel utterly spoiled for choice: burgers, fries, sandwiches, mac n’ cheese, and tons more, plus a whole list of monster magic drinks and cocktails that fascinate the hell out of you.

You agonize over wanting to order half of the menu, but ultimately stick with some of your favorites and pass the sheet back to Grillby, excited to see what he can do in the kitchen.

You and Sans have pretty similar tastes: if he was here all the time back in the day, and if Papyrus _hated_ it, you know you’ve got something _good_ coming to you.

Papyrus’ usual comes out first since it’s apparently just a glass of milk—“Full Of Strong Bones!” he assures you—and you watch Audrey pass it over to the poker table with one of her very long, very dexterous vines.

From here, it looks like Papyrus is mopping the floor with the other monsters, and you’re more proud of him than you can say.

You turn to Sans next, sitting beside you with an expression on his skull that you haven’t seen in awhile. It’s one of your favorites, where his smile is relaxed and real, with the cute little crinkles at the edges of his eye-sockets that make him look just like a cat.

Your giant, happy skeleton cat…

“Is it the same on the inside, too?”

“hm?” His big, red eye stares at you a second while he comes out of whatever daydream he was in the middle of. “oh…grillby’s, ya’ mean?”

“No, the moon.”

He snorts. “don’t joke, i know you humans’ve been there.” He takes another moment to consider your question, scratching idly at his cheek. “mmm…s’a little different, i guess. a lot the same… the people, y’know. still good. i, uh…i think i missed it a little more’n i thought,” he admits sheepishly.

“Well, I like it so far,” you tell him. “If the food’s as good as you say, I’m happy to come back whenever, so just let me know, okay?”

Sans smiles at you and you get a cheek-nuzzle for the sentiment. “will do, babe. i’ll hold ya’ to that.”

“Jeez, Foo-Foo, you weren’t kidding, these two are _schmaltzy._ ”

Burr giggles at Audrey’s dry observation of you. “Right? I almost don’t want my milkshake anymore, it’s too sweet!”

“hhhhey, y’know what else is new?” Sans hurriedly points out. “never had a tv in here before, when, uh…when’d that happen?”

It’s a terrible distraction tactic, but for once, you’re with Sans on it.

You turn to look at the TV mounted up in the far corner and quickly realize it’s on the same channel Papyrus had turned on back at home before you left.

Only this time, Napstablook’s concert looks to be in full swing.

You imagine the colorful lights and smoke effects look infinitely cooler in person, but whoever’s working the camera is still doing a pretty good job capturing the magic. The ghost behind the turntables looks endearingly shy, like they always seem to be in front of a crowd, but they don’t let it affect their music.

Their techno-tunes are _really_ impressive, complemented nicely by the melodic, feminine voice you’re hearing over them.

Huh, talk about ‘new,’ you’ve never seen _her_ before.

“Shyreeeeeeen…!” you hear from down the bar.

It’s Franco, the eel guy, who you definitely thought had passed out awhile ago. He’s awake now and wriggling excitedly at the screen.

“Turn it up!” he slurs, “Turn it up, tha’s my giiiiiirl! I gott’er that gig, she’s doing amaaaaazing, I’m so proud…!”

Audrey sighs, like she’d be rolling her eyes if she had any, but she dutifully turns up the TV’s volume so that the cute angler fish-looking girl’s singing can be heard loud and clear by everyone.

“I gotta do everything around here,” Audrey mumbles. “If Shyen weren’t a total sweetheart, I swear, I…”

You don’t really hear what she says next because Grillby is setting a couple of plates in front of you, piled high with fantastic-looking food.

You’re not at all surprised to see an unreasonably large burger and fries in front of Sans, nor are you surprised when he proceeds to drown all of it in ketchup.

You don’t let it put you off your own food and happily dig in.

It is……probably the very best thing you have eaten, in your life.

You spare a mental apology to Papyrus’ delightful spaghetti and keep chowing down, savoring every delicious, wonderful bite as much as you physically can.

“heheheheheheheh, good stuff, right?”

“I could eat here for the rest of my life and be totally fine with it,” you say flatly.

Sans laughs, but suddenly Grillby’s leaning across the bar, inscrutable.

“Would you like to?” he asks.

Your eyebrows shoot up. “Uh…”

Before you can figure out if he’s joking and what to say back, the fiery restauranteur says, “You can. For free. An unlimited lifetime tab.”

Sans chokes a little on the swig of ketchup he was taking. “whoa, grillbz, you serious? i thought what we had was special.”

“It was,” Grillby says. You get the impression that if he had any facial features you were used to, he’d be giving Sans a savagely sassy look. “I’m revoking it from you and giving it to your human instead. I’d rather not waste my excellent service on an ungrateful no-show.”

“aw, man, that’s _cold,_ grillby…”

When Grillby doesn’t react to Sans’ terrible pun, he frowns. It looks like a _pout_ , and there goes your urge to pinch his cheeks again.

“wait, you’re not seriously cuttin’ me off, are ya’? i _said_ i was sorry!”

The elemental is utterly unconcerned. “If you want to freeload,” he says, “ask your date to cover you. At least that way, I can expect to see you in here, sometimes.”

Sans blusters a little longer to the stoic and indifferent Grillby before turning his attention to you.

“well, hey, you’ll cover me, right?” He gives you his best attempt at puppy-dog eye(-socket)s, which quite frankly would probably terrify anybody who didn’t know what a goober he was.

Against you, they’re _stupidly_ effective.

You sigh. “I _guess_ …”

He brightens and damn it all, that look is just as cute.

“no prob, then,” he says, nuzzling at you again. You nuzzle back because you have no self-control. “i’ll just have to stick with you as long as i can. take full advantage of my sugar-human’s privileges.”

You laugh and shove him a little because you’re never going to live that down, but also because it’s easier to do that than acknowledge the weird little somersault your heart just did.

He may have been joking, but Sans basically just said you were a keeper; that he wanted the same thing you wanted out of this, and that was…

_Wow._

_-_

At some point, you’re shanghaied by the poker table—apparently, Papyrus is an even _worse_ scourge on their bone-chips than Sans was and they want to call upon his dark powers of shameless cheating to overthrow the new tyrant.

Sans protests a bit at first, citing his compromised memory, but they take it as a perk that’ll keep him from counting cards.

That’s about when you volunteer yourself as his partner: if the Dogi can be a team, Sans should be allowed to have a team, too, and you’re not exactly a card sharp so it shouldn’t be _too_ uneven.

The table agrees and gives you a quick rundown of the rules they’re playing by and you and Sans are welcomed into the game.

It’s _unbearably_ hard to keep your poker-face when Sans pulls you into his lap under the pretense of being better able to see your joint cards and you feel a very suspicious cushiness against your back.

“You _left_ the pillow,” you hiss at him, trying desperately not to burst out laughing. “I cannot believe you, you _left the pillow_ …!”

You bounce a little when he chuckles at your reaction. “what can i say?” he says in a low murmur. “maybe i was hopin’ to get you on top of me again an’ wanted you to be comfy.”

“Ugh, You Two Are _Disgusting_!” Papyrus groans at the flushing of your face. “Quit Your Incessant Canoodling And Ante Up, Already! I Have A Game To Win!”

Surprise of surprises, he does…but you and Sans give him a run for his money (bones?) and make him _really_ work for that victory.

Still, you’re out with your best friend and your boyfriend, having a great time and chatting with, the monsters willing, a whole host of _new_ friends that you hope to see again very soon here at your new favorite eatery.

You don’t really mind it too much that you lose a few games.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter took a little longer than I thought it would, but hey! Here it is! :D
> 
> For all the monsters who didn't survive the famine, there's still a lot that did, and they're all very happy to see these skeletons, as they should be! Everyone gets the love and affection they deserve in this fic, I will make sure of that!
> 
> In case it wasn't clear, Franco is Shyren's agent, Audrey is Big Mouth, and good ol' Dino is Monster Kid's dad! :3
> 
>  
> 
> ~~Audrey and Burr are dating, but you didn't hear that from me, shh!~~


	13. Heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: discussion of past suicidal ideation

It’s far from the last time you go to Grillby’s.

Now that Sans has broken the metaphorical ice, he seems intent on keeping his promise to Grillby to do better. The cozy little monster pub quickly becomes a regular spot for you, lunch breaks and date-nights alike.

You meet the occasional human here and there, friends or dates of the regulars or just people lucky enough to have stopped in and gotten hooked on the fire elemental’s stellar cooking…but mostly you get to know the monsters.

Audrey’s fascinated by human cuisine and takes cooking classes with Burr every Thursday night. Apparently, it’s their designated couple’s activity, and they’re such a subtle pair you never would’ve guessed they were together until they told you.

Some weird cat guy whose real name you can’t get out of anyone for the life of you—surely he can’t _actually_ be named Burgerpants?—loves coming in and getting _really_ high in the corner booth. You’re not about to judge, though: he’s always wearing a retail uniform when you see him and however tense and stressed out he is on his way in, BP’s always chill and smiling on his way out, so whatever works for him!

The dogs are a hoot and a half, especially when they find out that you _work_ with dogs for a living. They only get _more_ excited to learn that you and Sans actually _have_ a dog at home, which leads to Buddy coming to visit Grillby’s one night and…

Well…it’s a good thing that you’re already used to loud barking from your time at the shelter. Your ears didn’t stop ringing for hours after _that_ night.

Dino gushes about his son, Franco loudly negotiates gigs over his bluetooth, and Grillby…

Grillby doesn’t say much, actually, but his warm and glowing presence behind the bar is steady and reassuring.

You love it.

You love Grillby’s, and you love all the incredibly sweet and fascinating people you meet there, but most of all, you love what going so often is doing for Sans.

He’s…lighter these days, a little more unburdened. He smiles easier, jokes quicker, laughs louder, and it’s delightfully different.

……No.

On second thought…it’s not different at all.

He’s still Sans— _your_ Sans, all the way down to his marrow—but just… _more._

It’s Sans the way he is when it’s just you and Papyrus around, but more often, even _at work_ where he’s usually so closed off and shy, and it feels like the coolest damn thing to get to see other people finally getting to know the sweet and funny guy you care so much about.

Your relationship with Sans takes a nice, easy slide into the comfortable; so comfortable, in fact, that you manage to give poor Papyrus another conniption about it.

“What Do You Mean, You Don’t Have Anything Planned?!”

Silently, you and Sans share a look and shrug.

You know that you, at least, feel an awful lot like a kid being scolded by the teacher for not handing in an assignment. It’s hard _not_ to feel that way with Papyrus looming over you, hands on his hips and impatiently tapping his foot.

“I Am _So_ Disappointed,” he tsks, completing the illusion. “You’re Just Going To Sit Around The House Like Lumps—”

That _had_ been your plan.

“—On Your Own _Six-Monthiversary_???”

“i don’t think that’s a thing.”

“Of Course It’s A Thing, Sans!” Papyrus snaps. “Human, Tell Him It’s A Thing!”

“……I…guess?”

“There, You See? They Agree With Me! You’re Being A Terrible Datemate!”

Okay, you can’t let _that_ go unchallenged.

“I don’t think that, baby,” you say to Sans, quietly but Papyrus hears you anyway.

“Don’t Tell Him That! He’ll Never Learn Without Consequences!”

You raise your eyebrows. “He would learn _with_ consequences?” you ask incredulously.

“………Stop Making Valid Points!” Papyrus demands in return.

“i feel so attacked right now,” Sans chimes in, but he’s laughing so you doubt his feelings are really hurt.

“Well, How Do You Think _They_ Feel?! Look At Them!”

Sans looks at you and you smile up at him.

“yeah, cute as ever.”

“No! Heartbroken! Let Down! _Devastated_!”

You don’t really want to make Pap a liar… You frown, just a little bit, utterly fake and disingenuous.

“Yes, Perfect, Like That!”

It’s a struggle not to ruin the expression by laughing.

“Sans, Your Poor Human Naïvely Hoped Against All Logic And Reason That You Might Do Something Special For Them On This Most Important And Momentous Of Days! That You Would Go Against Your Very Nature And Find One Tiny Romantic Bone In Your Body— ”

“ouch, ‘tiny’?”

“—And Sh………You Are _Vulgar,_ Oh My God! For Once In Your Life Of Laziness And Terrible Puns, Be Serious—And Don’t You _Dare_ Say You Can’t Be ‘Serious’ If You’re ‘Sans,’ I Am _All Too Aware_ That You Are Sans!”

You give up, you’re laughing.

Your boys are just too fucking _funny,_ watching them argue is like watching the best improv sketch you’ve ever seen.

“Look, You’ve Made Them Hysterical!”

“oh no. i’m the worst.”

“No One Is Arguing That, And You Are So Lucky That I’m Here To Help You.”

You take a moment to try and get yourself together, deep breaths and not looking directly at either of these damn jokers.

“Oh, Good,” Papyrus grins at you. “You’re Coming Around To Acceptance! I Think You Skipped Over Anger And Bargaining Somewhere In There, But I Admire Your Efficiency!”

Pfft! “Thanks,” you eke out, just barely tamping down a giggle.

“Now, Then,” he says, very seriously, settling a comforting hand on your shoulder, “ _Sans_ Is Going To Make Up For His Grievous Oversight And Take You On A Lovely Six-Monthiversary Date.”

“i am? cool.” Sans slings an arm around you, gently pulling you out of his brother’s grip. “been dyin’ for some cheesy fries—”

“No!” Papyrus tugs you back, glaring at Sans. “No Grillby’s! It’s Bad Enough That That’s Your Usual, You Don’t Go To Your Usual For A Six-Monthiversary! It’s A Special Occasion!”

Sans frowns, but seems to take the proclamation in stride. “alright, so…what do ‘i’ have in mind?”

“That’s! ……” Papyrus squints down at you. “That Obviously Has To Be A Surprise.”

Without further ado, you’re nudged carefully yet forcefully to the stairs—shooed away like a too-curious cat from a museum.

“Wait, Pap, what—”

“Don’t Argue!” he chides, unmoved by your confusion. “Go Wait Upstairs For Awhile! Sans Will Get You When _His_ Surprise Is Ready!”

You spare a last look at Sans, who seems only mildly amused by whatever is happening here. He gives you a little wave that makes you smile, and you willingly disappear up the steps.

Down below you, you can still hear a faint exchange, hissed whispers and murmuring, but you can’t make any of the words out, so you don’t bother to keep eavesdropping.

Besides, a romantic surprise sounds…kind of nice.

Whether it was actually Sans’ idea or not, a date with your funnybones was always something to look forward to.

-

You decide to go hang out in Sans’ room while you wait.

You suppose Papyrus’ room is also an option—you don’t think he’d necessarily _mind_ you waiting there—but you feel a little more comfortable encroaching on your boyfriend’s space than on Papyrus’.

You hang out with him in there a lot, for naps and indoor tornado-watching and majorly nerdy (but interesting), casual geology lessons with his rock collection, so it seems like the best option for now.

The piney scent of air freshener tickles your nose when you walk in and you figure Sans must’ve cleaned sort of recently. He’s been pretty good about that lately, maybe especially because you’re in here more often, and it makes you happy that he has a mostly tidy area for himself.

You still remember how cluttered it _used_ to be, and even with a stray sock or discarded t-shirt on the floor here and there, it’s a major improvement.

(You are…a big enough person to admit to some envy over it. Your own room could certainly do with some attention and you make a mental note to take care of that soon.)

Sans’ desk is, naturally, the most organized: it’s where all his rocks are, meticulously sorted and catalogued by means that are…probably very scientific and make perfect sense.

To you, it seems totally random, but you still like to look at all of Sans’ cool specimens and see how many of them you can remember.

Tiger’s eye is easy and so is jade. You remember that the purpley-green one carved into an obelisk is fluorite because Sans made a hilariously terrible pun about it one time that apparently burned it into your brain.

The smooth whitish one in the middle of the desk is harder. It’s iridescent, which you’d think would make it easy to identify, but apparently you were really bad at telling the difference between moonstone and opal.

Sans, being your oh-so-hilarious funnybones, loved to swap them out on you and snicker when you got it wrong, so you pretty much give up on _that_ one entirely.

The polished purple ball is _definitely_ amethyst…ooh, or is it charoite? It looks kind of squiggly and you can’t remember if amethyst is ever that squiggly…

You need more light.

You flick on the desk lamp and the rocks illuminate, sheens and glitter galore that make you feel like some sort of goblin with a primal urge to hoard the shiny, sparkly things before you.

The purple is charoite for sure, and you’re…roughly eighty percent certain that the other one is an opal today, too many colors in it to be moonstone.

But you’re also a little distracted by the weird glint the extra light is causing down by the floor, _behind_ the desk.

You bend down to investigate and find a stray rock, wedged between the desk-leg and the wall. It’s the work of seconds to get it free and when you’ve got it…

Huh.

It’s a decently-sized black rock, dusty where it had been face-up and shiny where it wasn’t. It must have been stuck down there a good long while.

You take your shirt to it, carefully wiping it off and making sure to be mindful the places where it sharply curves into peaked edges, and soon it’s shiny all over, gleaming almost mirror-like from your hand.

You’d never been quizzed on this one before, but obsidian was one of the more recognizable types of rocks out there.

 _Volcanic glass,_ your brain helpfully adds and you feel a burst of excitement at knowing a rock fact Sans didn’t have to tell you.

You wonder if he’d be proud of you for that and shake your head, feeling silly for the thought.

Of _course_ he’d be proud of you, and then he’d probably immediately find a way to make a pun out of it. You weren’t sure _how,_ ‘obsidian’ didn’t seem like a very punnable word, but if anyone could find a way, it would be Sans.

You smile and go to set the rock back on his desk where it belonged, but pretty quickly realize there’s a roadblock.

You don’t actually _know_ where on the desk it belongs. There’s clearly _some_ sort of system but you have no clue what it is.

Messing up one of the few things Sans has bothered to organize, even in a tiny way, feels…kinda rude…

You elect to hold onto it until Sans comes to get you.

Since you have no idea what the surprise is and what the wait time on it is, you also plop yourself onto the bed and get comfy.

No sense standing around forever for no reason, right?

You intend to take out your phone and start playing games to pass the time, but you end up playing with the little obsidian chunk in your hands instead. It’s enticingly smooth beneath your fingers, cool but rapidly warming to the heat of your body as you keep stroking your thumb over its surface without rhyme or reason.

Its edges are a little sharp and kind of jagged, but they’re pretty easy to avoid once you properly map them out and besides that, you like the way they look. It…it’s got _character,_ like a lot of your favorite things in this life.

A lot of your favorite people.

You start to wonder if Sans would miss this particular little rock if you just went ahead and kept it, like that shiny-hoarding goblin you felt like a few minutes ago.

…Nah, that would be pretty uncool of you.

You’ll give it back when—

“hey, babe, y’ready for, heheheh, ‘my’ surprise?”

You sit up, grinning and chuckling a little yourself to see Sans holding a blanket and a picnic basket, of all things. “Oh boy, am I ever! Papyrus… _does_ know it’s nighttime, right?”

“………”

You follow Sans’ gaze when he doesn’t answer you right away. He’s looking at the obsidian in your hands and you scoff.

“Oh, right, I, uh…I found this! I wasn’t sure where it was supposed to go, so I—”

“where?”

“What?”

“where…was that?” The tightness in Sans’ voice makes you frown. You’re suddenly extra glad you didn’t just steal it because it seems…important, somehow?

You can’t read it all, but there’s a _lot_ of emotion on his skull right now, more than there should be for just some average, run of the mill rock.

You wonder what the story is, but ultimately, you don’t need to know.

“It was behind your desk. It must’ve fallen off or something,” you say. You hold it out to him, smiling gently. “Here, you can put it…wherever it’s supposed to be!”

Sans reaches for it. He’s unusually slow in taking it from you, his bony fingers just…hovering over your open palm for a long moment.

You look up at him in surprise when instead, he closes his hand around yours, the obsidian still inside.

“keep it,” he says.

“What…seriously?” Your eyebrows knit in something approaching concern. “But…”

“but nothin’. ya’ like it, don’tcha?”

Damn him and his ability to read you like a book sometimes. “Well…yeah, but…”

You weren’t sure how, but…it was an important rock to him, right? It had to be! Some…some sort of memento or…stars, maybe a family heirloom or something!

“i want _you_ to have it,” Sans says simply.

His tone is surprisingly firm. You’re not sure you’ve ever heard him speak so matter-of-factly, so you _know_ he means it, but _still_ …

“It’s…it’s not important…?”

“nah.” That feels like a lie, but he immediately follows it with, “it was supposed to be away, i must’ve missed it in the great rock purge of 20XX. doesn’t belong on the desk, anyway, you’d be doin’ me a favor if ya’ just took it. really.”

“……You just don’t want to dig out the shoeboxes for it,” you accuse.

Sans laughs, deeply amused…and maybe just a little bit relieved.

“ya’ got me,” he admits. “s’a lotta work for one little stone and, uh, between you an’ me…i didn’t really get’cha anything for our six-monthiversary.”

You give him an exaggerated gasp of shock. “No!”

“i know, i know” he sighs, just as dramatically. “m’a cad. a scoundrel. a ne’er-do-well…whatever that is.”

“Harsh, but fair.” Sans releases your hand and you look at the… _your_ obsidian. “Well…I’m honored by your thoughtless, last minute gift of rock.” You grin at him a little slyly. “Great minds think alike?”

Sans grins back. “you know it,” he says, and out comes the convenience store paperweight from his pocket, the one you’d bought him all those months ago back before you’d even been dating. “take it with me everywhere.”

You know he does and that makes you feel stupidly warm and gooey.

“I guess I can return the favor, now,” you say, slipping the obsidian into a pocket of your own. “Couples’ pocket-rocks: we’re gonna start a new trend.”

“heheheheheheh, trendsetters, that’s us.” Sans leans down to nuzzle the top of your head, gentle and sweet as always. “just be careful with it, yeah? s’a little sharp—you’re squishy.”

“I choose to take that as a compliment.”

“good, ‘cause it is one.” You get another gentle bump of teeth against your forehead and Sans pulls you to your feet. “c’mon, let’s go, i’ll tell ya’ all about your present on the way.”

Sans surprises you by actually walking all the way downstairs with you instead of just shortcutting you wherever it was you were going.

True to his word, he gives you a whole miniature lecture in the course of the trip about the care and keeping of your new obsidian—you learn that you can wash it with warm water and gentle soap, but not to use anything abrasive on it because that could damage the polished sheen.

You cut in when he starts to say it’s formed from molten rock to tell him that you know it’s volcanic glass, and just as you thought, he looks both surprised and proud of you for already knowing a rock thing.

He also says your observation was ‘ingenious’ but his inflection makes it sound an awful lot like the word ‘igneous,’ so you were right on both counts.

You sure know your big dork of a skeleton.

You notice the conspicuous lack of Papyrus _and_ Buddy as you walk to your destination and figure Pap probably made the both of them scarce to give you and Sans a little privacy for your apparently very important milestone date and the consideration is appreciated.

So is the big, fluffy blanket that Sans slings around your shoulders as soon as you step out into the moderately chilly backyard.

Winter is on its slow way out still, but by now all the snow is melted and the air is what you’d describe as brisk instead of outright cold. With the blanket, it’s more than bearable, which is probably a good thing.

With the picnic basket and the telescope set up in the middle of the yard, you think you’re probably going to be out here awhile.

“Stargazing?” you ask, unable to disguise the excitement in your voice.

“heheheh, stargazing,” Sans agrees. He waggles the picnic basket enticingly. “plus snacks. Pap snuck a couple thermoses in there, could be soup, could be tea…”

“Could be cocoa.”

“ _endless_ possibilities.” The red of Sans’ eye-light looks pleasantly soft and warm beneath the cold, white moonlight and you find yourself instinctively leaning in. “happy six-monthiversary, babe.”

You kiss him. You don’t think there’s anything else you can do.

-

It takes…longer than you’re willing to admit to get to the actual _date_ part of your date.

It’s hardly _your_ fault that Sans’ nuzzling is addictive, or that his big hands stroking your back and shoulders through the blanket is something you never want to pull away from.

Eventually, though, you pick at the snacks while Sans fusses with the telescope a little, telling you how to use it while he picks a good spot in the mostly cloudless night to settle it on.

You’re surprised that Papyrus just _had_ something like this lying around, and Sans surprises you even further by admitting it’s his—the same one he once told you he rented out Underground.

“could only look at a ceiling back then,” he says, distractedly. “view’s _way_ better up here. c’mon, take a look.”

You get up and wander over to the telescope, hesitating a second because the last thing you want to do is damage one of Sans’ older possessions.

“don’t worry, i wiped the paint off the eye-piece,” Sans promises. “Pap _made_ me, you’re safe.”

You laugh. “God, of course you pranked people with it, I should’ve known…”

Still, you trustingly look through the telescope, hoping Papyrus really did have your back on this one.

You forget all about it when you see the stars, closer and brighter than you’ve seen them in a _long_ time—maybe _ever._

“ _Wow_ …”

Sans comes up behind you, helping you adjust and move the telescope around here and there to different corners of the heavens. It really is a view that’s just…

“beautiful…”

You pull away, tilting your head back to find Sans observing the sky with just his own eye-sockets.

The dreamy awe on his skull makes you feel even cozier than your blanket and you gently nudge him in the ribs. “You want a turn on your own telescope, or…?”

Sans doesn’t even look at you as he says, “nah, m’good. this is plenty for now.”

You huff out a little laugh, leaning back against Sans and just looking up with him. “You really love the sky, huh?”

“understatement,” he murmurs. “it’s wild that ya’ just… _have_ this, all the time.”

You can’t imagine what living your entire life in a cave must’ve been like. You don’t care to, it can’t have been _good,_ even before it got a million times worse with the famine and everything attached to it.

“What’s your favorite kind of sky?” you ask him, curious.

“what, ever?” You make a noise of agreement and Sans pauses to consider it. “sunrise, probably. all the colors…an’ the _sun,_ that was a hell of a thing, that first time…”

Sounds right. You’d seen some truly incredible sunrises in your time on this planet and even when you took them for granted, you still always thought they were pretty.

“even…even this, though,” Sans says. “even when it’s night an’ the sun is gone, ya’ still get _this._ the moon, an’ clouds, an’…an’ _stars,_ damn…there’s so _many_ , i never…i never thought…”

He trails off and you let him. You can guess the ways he may have finished it and you don’t need him to say any of them.

Instead, you say, “There’s a million constellations, too. You know any? I can pretty much just point out the dippers, and that’s on a good day. Well, _night._ ”

“heheheheh…funny you ask, i, uh…” he sounds a little shy as he admits, “i used to wanna learn about that stuff…constellations, y’know. …never got around to it.”

“How come?”

“……”

You can’t look up anymore when Sans settles his chin atop your head, hugging you closer to him.

“…never had much hope,” he says eventually. “lot of us did, i guess. even _after_ the…the human.” He chuckles a little and it sounds tired. “Pap always believed…that we’d get up here one day, see the stars for real. but i…i dunno, it was harder for me to…to think that way. it didn’t seem like a thing that’d ever happen.”

“It did though,” you’re quick to remind him. “You’re here. You’re out.”

You get a grateful little squeeze for that. “yeah, i know. just…wasn’t always that way. didn’t see much point learnin’ stuff i was never gonna get to use.”

You reach up, idly petting at one of the arms Sans had wrapped around your midsection. The worn, blue fabric of his hoodie is much softer than the sturdy bones beneath it, but you find you love them both in equal measure.

“i, uh…actually, for awhile there…” Sans speaks haltingly, carefully weighing each of his words, and you keep quiet and let him. “when we…started collecting souls again…and seeing the surface seemed like it was actually gonna happen…i…i kinda hoped i…wouldn’t see it?”

“…What do you mean, baby?”

Sans takes a breath from behind you, holding it before letting it out in a whoosh.

“i…i used to hope i’d dust before we ever got up here.”

A bolt of fearful grief strikes through you, robbing you of speech.

Sans keeps talking, though.

“thought it’d be hunger,” he says, too casually for the subject matter. “always…i always felt it the most in between humans…hoped i would……an’ then i wouldn’t have to…to _do_ it again. or maybe karma’d get me, one of ‘em would…would see me comin’ an’ fight back, dust me then.”

This wasn’t… _entirely_ new to you. Sans had talked about this once before, briefly, telling you in passing about feelings like these.

It had come on the heels of so much other shocking information and it had been painful to hear then, but it feels so much _worse_ now to hear Sans talk about dying.

You think you hadn’t loved him then, not the way you do now, and stars above, you _do_ love him now.

The very _thought_ of Sans not being around wouldn’t feel so much like losing a limb if you didn’t.

You’re not sure if you make a sound or if he can just feel that you’re upset, but Sans nuzzles at you, making hushing noises of comfort.

“s’okay, baby, s’okay, i’m not…you don’t gotta worry about me, i never… made an _attempt_ or anything, i don’t…i don’t got that in me. s’just how i felt sometimes, on the bad days. i wanted…to punish myself, i think. for doin’ the stuff i did.”

His arms uncurl from your body and his hands are held out just in front of you. By the moonlight, you see the pale bones of his metacarpals, scraped and rough, and you don’t hesitate a second to fill them with your own hands.

“You don’t…” You bite your lip. “Do you…still think that way…?”

You’re a little afraid of the answer, but you need to hear it.

Sans spins you around to face him, your arms briefly tangling in your urge to not let go of Sans, but when you get it all sorted out…

He’s smiling at you, warm and real.

“no,” he says. “i don’t. not really.”

Your relief is so strong that for a moment, you feel _weightless._

“got my bad days. happens, but…not bein’ around doesn’t really appeal the way it used to, y’know? got more stuff i wanna stick around for.”

There aren’t _words_ for how happy you are to hear that.

“i got Pap, the guys at grillby’s, all those fluffy idiots at the shelter…” He chuckles a little and adds, “the fluffy idiot back in the house.”

“Hey,” you manage to say sternly, “that’s no way to talk about our son.”

One of his hands leaves yours, coming up to cradle your cheek.

“i got you, too,” he says softly, looking down at you with lidded eye-sockets.

For a second, you’re sure your heart is about to beat out of your chest, but he breaks your gaze to look up again.

“an’ i got the sky. there’s a whole lot of stuff for me to hope about these days, and...” Sans smiles just a little bit wider. “hell, i think i’d even say i’m…happy.”

Stars, you’re happy, too.

Here, in the arms of the strongest, most wonderful man you know, you don’t think you could _be_ any happier.

You really do _love_ him.

You press your face into his hand, turning just enough to be able to kiss it.

“Hey,” you say against his palm, “let’s learn constellation stuff.”

Sans snorts, building into a not-entirely-dismissive laugh.

“what, for real?” he says, like he can’t quite believe you said it. “you don’t think it’s, uh…heheheh, a little late for _me_ to be learnin’ new stuff?”

He raps his knuckles against his skull with a hollow ‘tok-tok,’ but you don’t let it deter you.

“That’s why I wanna do it together!” you explain. “We can help each other out, it could be fun. Couples’ astrology!”

You see him trying and failing to hold back another laugh. “astronomy,” he corrects you. “unless you’re askin’ me what my sign is. real roundabout way of doin’ this, you’re supposed to ask my sign an’ _then_ date me, what if we’re not compatible?”

“Pffff, shut up, we’re compatible,” you insist. “You know the right kind of star-charts to google, and me…” You smirk at him, a crafty glint behind your eyes. “ _I_ make some _killer_ flashcards.”

Sans stares at you for a few seconds, processing.

You go on high-alert when his eye-light starts doing that shivering thing again, but this time… This time, it doesn’t stabilize into its normal, perfectly round shape.

Your mouth drops open when you see it.

“Sans,” you breathe, your eyes going wide. “That’s _adorable,_ I didn’t know you could do that!”

“………do what?”

“…Oh my god.” Your hand comes up to cover your mouth. “You don’t even know you’re doing it…?”

Sans frowns a little, starting to look concerned. “doing what?”

It’s so, _so_ hard not to squeal, but… “Your eye is a _heart,_ baby.”

The big, red heart-shape taking up Sans’ eye-socket is the cutest, sweetest thing you’ve ever seen. You love it, almost as much as you love _Sans_ which, as you’re starting to realize, is a hell of a lot.

Sans is maybe not quite as thrilled about his eye-light’s new trick as you are.

As soon as he realizes what you’ve told him, he’s practically blushing his skull off, hurriedly covering his face and whirling away from you like you hadn’t seen what you’d just seen.

Unfortunately for his pride or his ego or whatever was bruised right now, you aren’t exactly prepared to let it go.

You chase after him, trying to tug his arm away. “Come ooooon,” you whine playfully, “that was _cute_ , I wanna see it!”

“no, nuh-uh,” Sans grumbles, trying to be gruff to scare you off, but he can’t fool you after _that_ affectionate display.

He’s a softie, through and through, and you can’t get enough of it.

“Saaaaaans…!”

“no! quit it! it’s not, don’t!”

There’s a bit of a scuffle that’s about as one-sided as you could imagine: you’re a wily little human and he’s a gentle giant of a skeleton who’d never lay a hand on you.

Even when your blanket falls off and you both hit the ground on top of it, Sans manages to roll so that he takes most of the impact and you end up…well, exactly where you want to be—on top of him, bracing yourself against his rib-cage while he lies on his back beneath the moon and the stars.

You take a moment to catch your breath, winded from the little play-fight and your laughter. It’s a little disappointing to see that his eye-light is back to its normal shape, but you try not to get too down about it.

If you got him to do it once, you could get him to do it again. You’d just have to try harder from now on.

Sans is…very handsome from this angle, in this lighting. You think he’s handsome pretty much all the time, but right now especially…

You wonder if now would be a good time to tell him that thing you just realized, with that four-letter word that so many people were scared to say.

You open your mouth, ready to tell him.

“I—”

“y’shouldn’t play rough like that, that’s _grounds_ for a break-up.”

“…snrk!”

 _So_ like Sans to break the tension with a shitty joke.

It’s part of the many, many reasons you love him.

You laugh and he grins proudly, his embarrassment easily forgotten and you’re happy to help it along by leaning down for a kiss.

“Stop trying to distract me,” you say against his teeth. “Let’s talk about those flashcards. Four-by-six?”

“ya’ gotta be kiddin’, with the size of _my_ hands?” They land on your hips, holding your much smaller self steady with ease. “five-by-eight is barely good enough. lined or unlined?”

“ _Lined,_ ” you say forcefully. “Don’t you ever suggest unlined to me again, I’m offended.”

Sans laughs. “offended over note-cards, an’ you call _me_ a nerd?”

You hit him with the flattest look you can manage.

“Sans, you gave me a lecture on the care and keeping and properties of obsidian _on the fly._ No prior notice. Yeah, you’re a nerd!”

“that’s in these days, though, right? nerds are hot?”

Yours sure was.

“Eh, you’ll do,” is what you say.

It seems to be the right thing because Sans happily pulls you down for another nuzzle that you enthusiastically return.

All things considered, it’s probably the best six-monthiversary date you’ve ever had.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back on schedule and the mystery of the eye-light is finally solved! We've also finally got the l-word in play! <3 
> 
> I know I usually try to respond to comments en masse before I get the next chapter up, but I'm running a little slow, so if you left a comment on Chapter 12, I'll get to it eventually! If you're leaving a comment on _this_ chapter... I'll also get to it eventually!
> 
> Thanks for reading, everyone, as always I love all of you! :D


	14. sans

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: suicidal ideation, self-harm, reference to suicide and character death, permanent injuries (all past, but described in flashback-form)

Life goes on.

Animals come in and out of the shelter and you help them as best as you can, just like it’s always been, but there are differences to be sure.

You’ve never gone so long without straining your back on a jumbo pallet of dog food, and you’ve never gone _half_ as long without tearing up at work over a hard case or somebody finally going off to a well-deserved home.

You attribute both of those to your big, sweet skeleton beau—Sans is always happy to help you out, whether with an easy bit of heavy lifting or a quick joke to make you smile, and you couldn’t be more grateful to have him in your life.

His brother is, naturally, just as much of a delight. Papyrus continues to be your absolute best friend and even with his busy schedule and his new popularity ever since that first night at Grillby’s, he never fails to make time for you, too.

Your dog-dates continue, just you and Buddy and Pap playing around at the park with only the occasional surprise guest. Mostly, it’s Sans popping in unexpectedly, but from time to time it’ll even be Dino’s son.

When Papyrus first tries to quietly apologize for bringing Dino Junior along, or maybe just to explain that he hadn’t wanted to disappoint the kid, you wave him off. You can tell right off that DJ really _is_ Papyrus’ biggest fan, surprisingly earnest for a teenager and hanging on every grand and dramatic word Pap says like he takes it all to heart.

He’s a very sweet kid and you don’t think he could’ve picked a better role-model. If he wants to come chill with you guys in the park for a game of fetch every now and again, you’re hardly about to turn him away.

You get plenty of solo-time with skeletons as it is. Between hangouts with the brothers and your countless dates and snuggle sessions with Sans, you’re already spending so much time at their house that you could probably move in and hardly anything would change.

There’s really probably only one thing you would even _want_ to change.

You haven’t quite managed to say the l-word to Sans just yet.

It’s not _exactly_ for lack of trying, it just always seems to feel like the wrong moment to say it: like the mood is weird or the timing is off or somebody interrupts with impeccable comedic timing you’d never actually seen outside of a sitcom.

It’s far from a major concern of yours, though.

You’re happy, you love your bonefriend, and one of these days, you’re even going to tell him so.

Life is good.

-

You’re in the middle of a cuddly, giggly necking session on Sans’ bed when he pulls away from you, reluctant yet determined.

“hey, hey, c’mon,” he murmurs as you chase him, pressing a cheeky smooch to his vertebrae. “wait a minute, i want…i wanna try something…”

“Kinky,” you reply on instinct.

Sans chuckles. “not _that_ kinda somethin’, jeez…”

Well, your curiosity is piqued. “What kind of something _is_ it, then?”

“it, uh…it’s a monster thing. humans don’t…least i don’t _think_ they do…” Sans is starting to look…genuinely worried, actually. It sobers you up a little and you sit back on your heels as he tries to explain. “it’s…it’s kind of a big deal? now that, uh…now that i’m thinkin’ about it… maybe you don’t wanna—”

“Sans.” He lets you cut him off, his eye-light small and nervous, but attentive. “Can I at least hear the thing before you decide I said no?”

“……eheheheheheheh…sorry. got in my own head there a lil bit.” Sans gives you a sheepish grin and you know what’s coming before he even says it. “guess i’m a _numbskull_ that way.”

It gets a snicker out of you, anyway.

“Yeah, but you’re _my_ numbskull,” you say, giving his nasal ridge a playful flick. “So, what’s this big deal monster thing that I probably don’t want to do?”

You watch Sans take a breath, steeling himself.

“i…i wanna share souls with you.”

Your eyebrows shoot up. That was _not_ on the list of things you’d expected to hear…mostly because…

“I…have no idea what that is.”

“heheheh…toldja it was a monster thing.”

“I didn’t think you were _lying._ Can you…explain what it is? In small human words, maybe?”

Sans seems to be mulling it over, carefully cherry-picking his words.

“it’s…it’s everything,” he says slowly. “it’s knowing each other all the way, no secrets…no important ones, anyway. it’s…getting inside each other’s head, seeing what makes ‘em tick, why and how they are…who they are. all of it.”

“Like…like drifting?” When you see complete and utter confusion on Sans’ face, it occurs to you that a Pacific Rim reference is a little too modern. Only the _really_ old or obscure human media seemed to have made it Underground before the monsters surfaced, so you try again with something a little farther back. “Vulcan mind-meld?”

That gets a spark of recognition.

“yes. that. it’s like that. just…” He frowns a little. “more intimate…? maybe? it’s not…y’wouldn’t…go around sharin’ your soul with a _stranger,_ it’s…it’s pretty much just for…for…”

“Relationships?” you guess. “Like…ours?”

Sans grins again, relieved that you’re following along without much trouble, no doubt. “yeah. it…i don’t think humans have an equivalent. it’s a big step, i…ya’ don’t do it unless it’s…serious.”

“‘Marriage’ serious?”

“mmm…almost? kinda. not that far.” His skull flushes slate blue as he belatedly finishes processing what you said. “i…! i’m not asking…! this isn’t…!”

The panicked look on Sans’ face is too much and you have to laugh.

“Oh, stars, baby, relax, relax! I know, don’t freak out, this is just…us trying to get on the same page.” You reach up, petting at his clavicle, and he sags a little beneath your touch.

“not, uh…not that i don’t like ya’,” he adds weakly. “that’s…that’s kinda the whole point, i just…we…”

There’s no possible way for him to talk himself out of this particular hole. As endearing as it is to watch him try, you decide to have a little mercy.

“Hey,” you say, interrupting his rambling, back-tracking train of thought. “Is it permanent? Like…a bond or something?”

“uh. no, nah, it’s just a thing ya’ do. but…” Sans takes your shoulders in his hands, looking at you very seriously. “it’s _intimate_ , i can’t say that enough, babe. it’s _you,_ all of you, no take-backs or…or hidin’ stuff.”

“…Not even the embarrassing junk from middle school?”

You didn’t think anybody got out of adolescence without a cringe-worthy happening or two and you were no exception.

Sans shrugs a little. “not if it’s important,” he says. “not if it’s part of who you are.”

“……Yikes.”

Sans presses his teeth to your forehead, hands sliding off your shoulders to stroke reassuringly along your arms.

“hey,” he says gently. “don’t worry about it. ya’ don’t…ya’ don’t gotta be ready for it now, that’s fine.”

You know he means it.

It’s not just a platitude to comfort you, it really _is_ completely and totally alright if this thing he’s asking for is too much, too soon. He wouldn’t be mad or frustrated at you in the slightest if you told him ‘no’ right now.

You’ve never felt more respected and cared for by anyone in your life than by Sans.

And that’s why your answer comes easily.

“I _am_ ready. Let’s do it.”

He looks at you for a long moment, like he’s surprised, but you’re not sure why.

You can’t think of anybody you’d be more comfortable trusting your soul to, and from the sound of it, Sans feels the same way about you.

You don’t have the words for how touched that makes you feel.

“seriously? you…you’re sure…?”

“Yeah. You just gotta promise me one thing.”

Sans’ expression is sober, nearly grave. “of course. whatever you need.”

“I need you to swear,” you say sternly, “upon pain of death…that you will absolutely never, under _any_ circumstance……tell Papyrus about _anything_ embarrassing you see, I trust _you_ to forget about it eventually, but he’ll remember _forever_ and I just, I don’t think he’ll let me live some of that stuff down. Please, Sans, you have to promise me.”

“………”

A quiet snicker graduates into a full-blown laugh, with just the barest edge of a wheeze to it, and you grin proudly as Sans leans on you a little, pressing his forehead to yours.

“ah, shit, that’s…that’s a real tall order, i dunno… i guess i can _try_ …”

You sigh dramatically. “What’s it gonna take? Lunch for a month? A year? The rest of our lives?”

“i’d settle for a kiss.”

“Oh. Datemate discount?”

“special offer, just for you.”

You don’t see how you can say no to a deal like that.

You reach up, wrapping your arms around his neck and angling your face just enough to plant your lips on his teeth. He presses back, turning it into a nuzzle and…

Well.

You get distracted for a little while.

Hardly anybody’s fault.

When you eventually separate, Sans tells you the basic gist of what’s going to happen: your souls come out, they touch and, by the mysterious explanation-defying powers of magic, the sharing will just sort of…happen.

You wonder briefly if he’s drawing on some old memory of a monster sex-ed class—Your Soul And You—but your amused thoughts don’t last long.

Your mind goes blank, actually, when he casually touches his fingers to his sternum and his very soul follows them, emerging from his chest.

“so…this is my soul,” he says, grimacing at it a little. “the ‘culmination of my being.’ it’s, uh…it’s kinda…”

“It’s _beautiful,_ Sans,” you breathe.

It is.

You’ve never _seen_ anything prettier than the upside down heart-shape in front of you, glowing like freshly fallen snow beneath a bright full moon. You want to reach out to it, to trace the intricate spider web of gray cracks splintering through it with your fingers, to press your lips to it and nuzzle it as gently and carefully as you do to Sans’ skull…

But by the stunned and shy expression he’s giving you just from telling him it was _beautiful_ , you think that might be a little much.

“How do…how do I do mine?” you ask. “I don’t…”

Sans eagerly takes to the change in topic. “i got it,” he says, “don’t worry, i’ll just…”

His hand touches your chest, feather-light, and you still when you feel a _tug_ deep inside, a place in you that nothing’s ever touched before.

With something you can only describe as a ‘pop,’ another glowing heart appears but this one…

This one is yours…this one is _you._

Right side up and a hundred times more vibrant than the soft white of Sans’ soul, you experience a profound sense of existentialism just looking at this little heart floating before you.

You have an incredibly strong feeling, knowing without knowing that this thing is unique beyond the telling of it, the only soul in the world that’s exactly like this one.

It’s…a lot prettier than you thought it would be, and that’s got to be those pesky self-esteem issues pulling the wool over your eyes because if this colorful, shining thing really is you, then…

Then you really _must_ be special

“ _that’s_ what a beautiful soul looks like,” Sans says decisively.

His eye-sockets are fixed on it, his red pupil in your favorite shape and his ever-present grin going soft, bathed in the light between you.

The sight of him in this moment strikes you with a heady bolt of affection and your soul shivers with it—literally shivers, and your cheeks heat at such a blatant, visible response.

You think you’re starting to understand what Sans was getting at when he said ‘intimate’: you’ve never _been_ this exposed.

“not too late to change your mind.”

You look up. Sans’ look is knowing, understanding—he can read your nervousness with ease.

But that’s all it is, just nervousness.

You decide to take a page out of Papyrus’ book: you were _going_ to do this and it was _going_ to be fine.

“I’m okay,” you tell Sans. “I’m ready.”

And you are.

You can’t quite look away as your souls close the gap between them, your heart involuntarily speeding up as they get closer and closer and finally touch and then…!

Your vision goes white.

-

You don’t know where dad is.

Working, you guess, he’s always working, and you’re old enough by now to realize that you’re _probably_ still too young to be left alone this often, but it’s not like you’re a babybones, either.

Not like Papyrus is.

Your little brother is so _small._ He can’t really talk so great yet, but he tries a lot, making noises that are almost words when you give him his rattle to shake or tease him with his Fluffy Bunny toy.

His favorite sorta-word lately is ‘nyeh’ and he says it all the time.

You think it’s the funniest thing. You hope he never stops saying it.

Man…your bro is so _cool._

-

You’re exhausted, well and truly worked down to the _bone._

(heh.)

You can’t really remember why you thought fast-tracking was a good idea. You think it was probably more dad’s idea than yours…or you would if you _could_ think after your skull had been pummeled by exam after exam after exam.

Theoretical physics, advanced calculus, geology, mechanical engineering… You were _good_ at it, at least, a prodigy if you believed what dad said, a ‘true successor to his genius’ but dad was always kind of a drama queen.

Pap inherited that, but to dad’s endless despair and your endless amusement, he’s also the artsy black sheep of your family.

He’s going through a goth phase right now and the spiked bracelets and the inky paint he’s slathering beneath his eye-sockets while insisting it’s ‘NOT A PHASE, YOU JUST DON’T UNDERSTAND MY EMOTIONAL AND TORTURED SOUL’ is the most hilarious thing in the world to you.

You encourage him and his teenage rebellion whenever possible—like a good bro should, of course—and try not to laugh too obviously when dad holds his skull in his hands and prays for Papyrus to discover an interest in a science, _any_ science, even a _soft_ science, stars, _please._

The only thing you pray for is to pass your finals. You don’t want to have to do any of this crap again, and once you’ve got your degrees maybe dad’ll finally shut up about how much help he needs at the Capital with his work.

Sometimes you think the CORE is more his baby than you or Pap ever were…

But you’re tired enough lately that you don’t think it that often.

-

You’re not there when it happens.

That’s the part that kills you the most, wondering if you could’ve done something if you’d been there, made a difference somehow…

But you weren’t, you didn’t, and in one little warble of time and space, your dad ceases to exist.

Worse than that, so does any record of him, every mention of his name, every photograph, every _memory._

Pap seems to have some vague recollection, at least remembers that you’d _had_ a dad at one point, but everyone else you talk to goes blank when you say his name out loud, like they won’t or maybe _can’t_ even process the words you’d said.

There was no Royal Scientist, hadn’t been for years, they all agreed. The king really ought to hire somebody to do it.

It could’ve been you.

It could’ve been you _easily,_ you had all the know-how and the (admittedly limited) experience to take on dad’s job in his…memory, or honor, or whatever the hell, but you can’t think of a single thing you’d hate more than that.

You were never passionate about The Work, but now…it’s irrevocably soured for you.

You throw all your notes and schematics into dad’s home-lab, with the stupid time-machine he never got to work and lock it all up, tossing the key somewhere in a drawer to be forgotten. You let Pap have your textbooks and without somebody breathing down his vertebrae about it, he’s not nearly as contrary about perusing them now and then.

And that’s it: the inglorious end of your scientific career.

The king ends up hiring one of the interns you used to work with to be the new Royal Scientist, some girl named Alphys. You remember her being a little shy, a little awkward, but undeniably sharp and creative.

You think she’ll do fine.

You ask Pap how he’d feel about moving someplace else, and after a twenty minute rant on how much he _loathes_ Hotland’s vents and conveyor belts, you just up and shortcut the whole house to Snowdin.

You like the name and the flat look your brother gives you when you tell him it’s the _polar_ opposite of Hotland makes it worth the twelve hours you have to go pass out after such a huge expenditure of magic.

You have no idea what you’re supposed to do with your life now.

You guess you’ll figure it out sooner or later, and you hope the fresh start will make it easier.

-

Some things you can’t get away from.

You may be done working with the real thing, but science- _fiction_ is fun; just the right balance of real concepts and hand-wave-y ‘shh, don’t worry about it’ that you can take pleasure in it.

It seems to be a popular genre with humans and enough of their junk falls down that you have plenty of books and movies to choose from.

Some of it’s good, some of it’s so _bad_ it’s good, and some of it’s so bad that you immediately pass it off to your brother telling him it’s the best thing you’ve ever seen and wait for him kick down your door in the middle of the night yelling at you about the hours he’s never going to get back, ‘STOP GIVING ME GARBAGE, SANS, I’M SERIOUS!’

Pap should really know by now that just makes you want to find something even _worse_ to waste his time on.

You’re digging around the dump for just that sort of garbage when you find the telescope.

You know why nobody’d bothered to take it yet in spite of it being in near-perfect condition—no stars to see down here in your collective prison—but it makes you think of the Wishing Room and you set it up over there on a whim to get a look at your pseudo-stars embedded in the ceiling.

The pranking potential is enormous, and you _do_ get several hapless passersby, but you also take a look yourself from time to time.

Through the telescope, you can see an incredible amount of detail in the crystalline ‘stars’ everyone wishes on—facets and cleavages and around them, striations in the stone of the ceiling itself.

And thus begins your slow descent into casual geology.

At first, it’s just the telescope, but eventually you catch yourself prying a crystal out of the wall or pocketing a neat-looking rock you found on the ground. It turns into a full-blown collection before long and you want to hate it more on principle of not being able to let go of the past but…

Picking up rocks here and there, it…it doesn’t hurt the way calculating the internal energy of a system does, the way even _thinking_ about string theory sends a bitter pang through your soul.

Just collecting these minerals and crystals and whatever else you can find, it’s so informal and so far removed from anything you’d done in a lab, working on the CORE that you can still actually enjoy it.

So, you let it be your hobby.

It’s harmless enough.

-

You’re surprised it takes you as long as it does to stumble onto comedy.

You’ve always been a joker, always loved puns and cheesy one-liners that inevitably won you a chuckle or a groan from everybody around you, but you never really had the right audience for it. Dad always just rolled his eyes and wouldn’t acknowledge you, and Pap…

Well, Pap supported you. He just thought you took the easy road too often, should put more _work_ behind your humor.

That, you didn’t get—a joke’s a joke, does it matter how hard you worked on it if it makes somebody laugh?

Getting up on stage the first time is at least eighty percent unintentional.

It’s some dumb open mic night at some lousy bar in the Capital and after three straight rounds of terrible karaoke, the people you’re hanging with are drunk and bored enough that they start pushing at your shoulders, telling you to go on up and tell that story, the really funny one about the time you found that rubber chicken, _anything’s_ better than hearing Aaron singing _another_ love song while flexing his abs at everybody.

You’re _also_ just drunk and bored enough to give in to the peer pressure and up you go for your very first show, with no preparation and just your lifelong arsenal of bad jokes at your disposal.

You knock ‘em dead, full-on wheezing, banging on the table, crying laughter and the thrill it makes you feel is indescribable.

You’re already planning out your next set when you get a call from Mettaton himself, saying he wants you to perform exclusively at his resort every other week.

It’s an offer you could easily refuse, but you don’t.

The feeling of being up there on the stage, seeing a whole crowd of people so _happy,_ laughing at a joke _you_ told…

It’s probably the first time you’ve ever been really, truly passionate about something for yourself.

Every time you do a show, it’s the happiest you think you’ve ever been: _this_ is your calling.

-

Something else is calling you, too.

It yanks you right out of a midday nap and there’s a crushing, overwhelming pressure on your soul that makes you get up.

You are Needed, you have no choice.

It’s terrifying that first time, finding your feet and your magic responding to shortcut you somewhere you weren’t even consciously aware of. You feel like you’re _possessed,_ unable to shake the urge to Go, because you Must, and you have no control over it.

It’s only a slight relief when you find yourself in the castle, in a room you’ve at least _seen_ before.

The king himself, standing in front of you, is a little less of a relief.

He looks surprised to see you and you want to ask him what’s going on, what the hell is happening to you, because it seems like he knows _something_ but your fear and confusion holds your metaphorical tongue too long.

And Asgore speaks.

“I come seeking Judgment.”

Your magic flares in your chest, burning brighter than it ever has before and suddenly…suddenly you can See.

His LOVE, his EXP, the truth of his soul is laid out before you like an open book, things meant to be secret outside of an encounter, yet…

There they are.

A strange sense of calm washes over you, a feeling of duty. You hear the chime of a bell, the singing of birds, the wafting scent of flowers drifts through…

You open your mouth and a voice only half-yours passes your first Judgment.

Asgore is unsurprised.

He’s a patient audience as you list off his sins and the weight of them, offering no argument or emotion in response. When you finish and the strange power that had consumed you vanishes, he’s at your side, quelling the rattling of your bones with a paternal hand to your shoulder.

He invites you in for tea, of all things.

You take him up on it. You _need_ answers.

Asgore doesn’t have as many as you’d like.

It happens once in a generation, some monster with the requisite skills—perceptive, impartial, patient—is chosen to become The Judge. Anyone trying to pass through the judgment hall, to reach the throne room and the king, must first have their sins seen, weighed, _judged._

And you’re the unlucky bastard who got picked to do it this time around.

It’s too much responsibility, you don’t want it, but not even Asgore himself can take this from you. He tries to comfort you, saying you’ll hardly ever be needed, but even ‘hardly ever’ is still more than you wanted.

You’re called to Judge four more times after that.

They’re all easy, good people who get what amounts to a pep-talk before their audience with Asgore, a ‘good job’ for going through life without hurting anyone. It gets you used to your unwanted career, at least, even if you think it’s pretty unnecessary to have.

Monsters are _made_ of love and compassion: they’re good people, and good people aren’t violent, they don’t kill.

There’s no point being a Judge among monsters and this ‘chosen’ schtick feels pretty damn arbitrary to you.

(You try not to think about the possibility of a human falling down. The odds of it happening in your lifetime are…)

(You try not to think about it.)

-

You’ve been having the _worst_ sense of déjà vu lately.

You don’t know what it is, or why it’s happening, but it feels like more and more often that you’re having the sensation of having heard something before, said something before, lived through something before.

You ask a couple people about it and a lot of them agree with you, passing it off as such a weird and funny coincidence…but the longer the feeling sticks with you, the less you’re believing in coincidence.

You don’t know why you go back to dad’s lab and take a look at the unfinished machine inside. Maybe you’re following a hunch—it’s a time machine, after all, even if he never got it working. Maybe…maybe it’s broken, malfunctioning, causing some sort of…something around here.

It’s not the machine.

But it’s not just déjà vu, either.

You use the equipment, calling on knowledge you hadn’t thought about in years, and the data in the reports you pull is…

Just a little bit harrowing.

There’s some sort of anomaly in the data, literally screwing around with the space-time continuum itself. Entire timelines starting, stopping, diverging, looping back, it’s insane when you realize how long this must’ve been going on and even worse when you think about how much longer it _could_ go on, unchecked.

The fact that some of the lines are literal dead-ends just makes it worse. What the hell has the power to play with time like this?

You don’t know…but you think maybe a couple times, you must’ve found out.

Your memories are weird lately, you try to take notes and keep them in the lab, it seems mostly unaffected by time-shenanigans, but whatever’s doing this _really_ doesn’t want you knowing about it.

It’s around then you start having nightmares.

 _Bad_ ones.

Fighting for your life, watching people die, the overwhelming feeling of needing to do something, _anything_ to stop this and being completely, utterly useless.

They’re only nightmares, you try to tell yourself that…but you can’t be sure. Who _knows_ what form an erased memory from a doomed timeline might take in a new loop and some of the things you see in your dreams are just way too real for your liking.

When Papyrus tells you in passing about a flower he’s made friends with, you feel a lightning bolt of _NO_ strike clean through your soul. You want to investigate, or tell Pap to stay away from that thing, and you don’t know why, but…

There’s an undercurrent of dread beneath those thoughts, a feeling of helpless despair.

You think you must’ve tried those things already. You wonder how badly they must’ve ended, and how many times it had to have happened for you to feel such an ingrained Pavlovian fear-response.

It’s been a long time since you’ve felt this _tired._

You’re not proud of it, but…

You give up.

The déjà vu doesn’t stop, but it doesn’t get worse, either.

You guess maybe that’s the anomaly’s way of rewarding your compliance.

If you weren’t so exhausted—mentally, emotionally, physically—you think you might be a little indignant about it.

-

One highlight these days is your door-pal.

Sentry-duty is boring and even _you_ can only take so many outdoor, mid-morning depression naps, so finding a fellow knock-knock-joke-enthusiast so close by is a nice little surprise.

She’s a terrific audience and pretty damn funny herself. You thought you’d already heard every pun in existence, but you learn a couple new ones from her and use them whenever possible.

You don’t know what she’s got in her past that keeps her locked up inside the old ruins, but in spite of your other-other-other job, you’re not about to judge. After all, you’re the one who decided to move clear across the Underground when your dad died…ceased existing, whatever.

Everybody’s running from something.

When she asks you to look out for any humans that come through the door, though…

Stars, you want to say no.

You almost do, but…she sounds so _sad_ when she asks. You don’t know her name or what she looks like, but you’ve always thought terrible jokes were a great basis for a friendship and you’ve been swapping them with her for months, now.

She’s your friend and this is quite literally the only thing she’s ever asked of you.

You promise.

There’s only one human left to go, anyway. It won’t be hard to watch them until they get to the castle, and once they go through the judgment hall, anything that happens after that is out of your hands.

How bad can one little human possibly be?

-

Famous last words, you guess.

Number Seven is worse than anything you could’ve imagined.

They’re covered in dust when they walk out of the ruins, and when your door-pal stops answering your knocks, it’s not hard to guess what must’ve happened to her.

The déjà vu comes back and so do the nightmares, more terrible and heart-wrenching than they’ve ever been before. It occurs to you that you might’ve found the anomaly, but you’re too damn _scared_ to do anything about it.

You keep your promise, though: you watch the kid every step of the way, silently tailing their journey.

There’s no rhyme or reason to their little dusting spree, at least none that you can see. They slaughter an Ice Cap without a second thought, but breeze by most of the Canine Unit with just a pet and a cheery little laugh that sends shivers up your spine.

When your brother is one of the monsters to be spared, you actually collapse into a snow poff for a moment from the relief. You _know_ the timeline is bouncing around again the same way you _know_ how much worse that encounter could’ve gone.

(Papyrus’ decapitated head in the snow, still encouraging the human to do better with his last words as his skull breaks apart into dust…)

Your bro blusters a little bit when you hug him after, probably too tightly, but he doesn’t try to shoo you off, either.

He’d never admit it, but you can feel him rattling just as hard as you are. You know he was scared facing down that human and as they traipse through the Underground, swinging that knife of theirs, you know it was completely justified.

They slip right under Undyne’s radar and dismantle Mettaton on live TV. Pap cries a little and as much as you try to be aloof, it really is one hell of a spirit-breaker having to watch the only celebrity you have down here just up and die in front of you.

It isn’t long before you feel the calling and soon you’re standing there, face-to-face with the very person shattering the hopes and dreams of all monsterkind.

But you’re not a monster in this room.

Here, you’re a Judge, and it’s time for their sentencing.

Their sins are heavy and almost too many to count. They’ve killed dozens, without remorse…but they’ve also spared others. Their soul is strange, burning with more Determination than you’ve ever seen, but to what purpose, you can’t tell.

In the end, it’s not your place to figure it out.

You Judge them and let them through, hoping Asgore is strong enough to see justice done.

…But your hope is running pretty thin, lately.

Soon, your king is dust, the six human souls you’d had are gone, and the Underground is once more plunged into despair.

Of all the timelines to _stick…_

-

Undyne takes over.

It’s…not great.

She’s trying, though, and she gives Pap a cute little title which makes him happy, so it could be worse.

But not by much.

It feels like everything’s falling apart these days. Even food’s getting hard to come by and you’re trying really hard not to think about what’s gonna happen when it runs out.

Sustainable solutions would normally be something in the Royal Scientist’s wheelhouse but Alphys…

Alphys just sort of disappeared one day.

After Asgore, after _Mettaton_ …you think you know where she went.

And there’s no coming back from that.

It certainly doesn’t help the food situation, _or_ Undyne’s combative mood and lately, you swear you can hear her and Pap shouting at each other in the Capital all the way from Snowdin.

Your bro is just too cool to accept the idea of warring with an entire species for the crimes of just a few—the Judge in you agrees with him, but the tired slob of a skeleton in you just wants whatever will make all the yelling stop.

-

You’re there when it happens.

That’s the part that kills you the most, knowing how totally, hilariously useless you are even when you’re actually _around_ to protect your family.

You’re there to see Undyne slam her fist into your brother’s face with a wild look in her eye, hearing bone crack beneath her knuckles as she does it again and again and again.

You don’t think about your HP, or the consequences of defying the queen, or anything at all.

You just shortcut yourself right in between her and Papyrus and…

You don’t remember anything after that.

-

You wake up with a brutal headache and a weird foggy feeling in your skull that makes it hard to think.

It takes you an embarrassingly long time to realize you’re at home, in Pap’s bed, and by then Pap is walking in with a meager bowl of soup.

He looks surprised to see you awake, but the first thing he says to you is, “Don’t Be Mad,” and well, that plus the painful-looking state of his teeth doesn’t really make you feel better.

He pussyfoots around something for awhile, clearly trying keep you calm before dropping a bombshell and normally you’d see right through it, but now…it’s working.

Your head hurts and you can’t think straight and he’s saying you got hit, but that can’t be right. You’d be _dust_ if you got hit, especially by Undyne, how the _hell_ are you alive?

Papyrus sets a syringe on the table beside his bed, looking starkly out of place next to all his action figures.

You have to stare at it for a long, long moment before you can even place what it is.

DT—raw and red, pure Determination, extracted from a human soul.

“I Was Careful,” Papyrus promises you. “I Know Too Much Is… I Read The Notes, In The Lab, I Barely Used Any, You Shouldn’t…You Should Be Alright! I…I Think…”

He keeps talking, but you’re not really listening.

Stars above, DT… That was only ever…in the labs, the royal ones, how the hell had Pap even…

Well…no, Pap was…he’d always had a way of getting places he had to be, like…like your shortcuts, except…

He’d tried to explain it to you once, you think, how he…god, there was a word he’d used…

……

…What the hell was it?

Why can’t you _remember_ that?!

You raise a hand to your skull, trying to rub at the place this stupidly distracting headache seems to be coming from.

Nausea hits you dead in your non-existent gut when you feel nothing beneath your fingers but an empty cavity.

On instinct, you shortcut to the bathroom. Your aim is off, you bang your ribs unpleasantly on the edge of the sink below the mirror, but you don’t think about it.

You’re surprised you can think of _anything_ with the jagged, void-black cavern that’s apparently half your skull now. One of your eye-lights is gone and you can’t make it come back, and the other…

Stars, the other is the brightest, most _terrifying_ shade of crimson you’ve ever seen—monster-white forever stained DT-red.

You’re hit with several urges at once and none of them seem productive.

Crying, puking, laughing until you do _both_ , but you don’t actually do any of those things.

You hear Papyrus calling for you, no doubt concerned by your disappearance, and you really should go back to him but…

This is too much.

You’re tired.

You go straight to bed instead.

Maybe…maybe when you wake up the fog will be gone and you’ll be able to…process this, the right way.

-

The fog never really leaves you.

You’re in and out for awhile and your head… _mostly_ stops hurting, but using it is a lot harder than it ever used to be.

It takes you forever to notice that Pap’s been talking to you in proper case all of a sudden.

At first you think it’s because of his teeth, that his usual high volume is just too much for the cracked and crooked bones of his jaw, but even when they’ve healed a bit he’s still just…quieter than he used to be, more muted than the bombastic baby brother you’re used to and it’s…

You don’t like it.

You never get around to saying anything about it, though, because you’re a little busy dealing with your own shit.

It seems like you’re passing out all the time now.

You love napping, you’d never even attempt to _imply_ otherwise, but usually you’re doing it on _purpose._ Now, it just sort of…happens, whether you mean it to or not.

Your memory is pretty much garbage, too.

You’re stuck in the house for a few days while you’re healing and make the mistake of trying to read to pass the time. It takes you all day to get through _one_ chapter, you keep having to backtrack and remind yourself of something you _just read_ , but it didn’t…stick right, or something.

It’s worse when you try looking back at some of your old lab notes. Wingdings is as good as gibberish to your crappy skull now, apparently, and even in standard your own shorthand is too convoluted to follow for more than a couple of lines.

Losing entire conversations is a special kind of humiliating.

You quickly lose count of the times you ask Pap a question and by the look on his face you can tell it’s something you already asked him before at least once; who knows how many times _more_ than that.

He’s patient with you. Your brother would never make you feel stupid on purpose, but you feel it anyway.

You’re frustrated with yourself beyond words and you know, deep down, that this is just the way your head works now—badly—and you’ve gotta get used to being _half_ as quick as you were before.

You pick up a nasty habit of tugging at your empty eye-socket when you’re trying to remember something.

Pap hates it and you really probably shouldn’t be doing it, but the pain of it is…grounding, in a way. It helps you focus a little and stars, if there’s anything you need these days, it’s _focus._

(The pain in your eye-socket is a pretty good distraction from your hunger pangs, too. Things are starting to get…)

(………)

(It’s not good.)

-

A human falls.

You take them to Undyne.

………

At least you’re not as hungry anymore.

-

It happens again.

You can’t afford these kinds of mistakes, none of you can.

Monsters are already…

You can’t be wasting souls like this.

Undyne has to…she’s _really_ gotta…

………

-

You can’t…afford not to care anymore.

You had so many chances to fix this before it happened, to make it…be less bad now.

You let them all pass by.

If Undyne can’t do this…

…Stars, forgive you.

-

The first time you take a life is the last time you use your Judgment.

You hope that…knowing this human’s sins before you……will make it…easier.

It doesn’t, not really.

But at least it’s quick.

You feel sick after, hiding the soul away and bringing the…the _meat_ to Papyrus.

Your only saving grace is that there’s nothing for you _to_ throw up, and by the time there’s something to eat going around, you’ve managed to go numb.

It doesn’t last.

-

You carry on, you and Pap—the Queen’s Butchers.

You hear that word and want to die a little every time, but that’s the last thing you can do now. You started this, you’re taking this horrible, nightmarish responsibility and you…you have to see it through.

You can’t let this be somebody else’s problem.

(Papyrus’ station is the next nearest to the ruins. You can’t let this be _Papyrus’_ problem, he’s already too involved and that’s hard enough for you to live with.)

You try to Judge the other humans—it didn’t help before, but maybe…

You can’t, though.

It doesn’t work, not anymore.

Trying to call on whatever magic used to let you see LOVE and EXP at a glance is like trying to catch water in your fist, slipping through your fingers no matter how hard you grip.

It takes you awhile to understand, but you get it eventually.

Judges are supposed to be impartial and fair.

But you have blood on your hands, now.

You’re not The Judge, not anymore, just the executioner.

You hate the ugly, scary face you see in the mirror.

You understand now more than ever why Alphys did what she did. You think she probably had the right idea and you wish you could join her.

You can’t.

You have to live with this.

Just a little bit longer.

Maybe you’ll get lucky and just dust on your own.

…You wish.

-

You start to space out a lot.

You don’t know if it’s your head-wound or just your soul itself recoiling from the idea of inhabiting a body that does the horrible, unforgivable things you’re doing with it.

You like it, though.

It’s inconvenient sometimes, feeling so separate from yourself that you can’t…process…anything going on around you except simple commands and ‘yes’ or ‘no’ questions, but mostly, it’s a relief.

It’s a brief period of time where you can just…barely exist.

You don’t really know where it is you _go,_ mentally, when you dissociate like that, but it’s so close to what you really want and with _that_ off the table…

Hell, you’ll take what you can get.

-

It’s an accident the first time you do it.

You’re just holding onto a hunk of pyrite in your pocket when you space out, and when you come back from…wherever, you feel a stinging pain in your closed fist.

There’s a scrape along your metacarpals where you’d been clutching the rock just a little too tightly, some tiny lines dug right into the surface of the bone.

There’s no chance of finding anything to heal it with down here, not in this barren hellscape that the Underground’s become, so you just sort of…leave it.

It hurts a little, but no worse than every other painful thing you have to do these days.

You don’t think about it for awhile, but then…

The next human to fall is a little girl. She can’t be older than ten and you come across her shivering through the outskirts of Snowdin, calling out to no one.

She lost her mom, she hurt her ankle, the vines, she couldn’t…please, wasn’t there _anybody_ down here?

There’s tears streaking down your skull when you break her neck—quick, but _horrible,_ and that night you leave more scrapes along your hand because you hate yourself more than anything and the pain helps you remember that.

It turns into a habit because of how easy it is. You have a whole collection of rough, sharp, and jagged things to choose from and all you have to do is keep one in your pocket so you have it when you need it.

It’s less noticeable than curling your fingers into your eye-socket, and Pap hates that.

At least your hands, you can hide.

They’re always in your pockets anyway, your bro won’t question it or look at you all sad and disappointed…

…Maybe if you put enough gouges in the bone, you’ll even scrape off the bloodstains that haunt you when you close your eye-sockets.

Hasn’t worked so far but you don’t see the harm in trying.

-

You make it out.

There’s no war.

Pap gets his teeth fixed, a therapist for his anxiety issues, a job to be productive at, and he even starts taking classes. He wants to be a nurse and you can’t guess if dad would be more proud or horrified by that.

You…

You don’t really…do anything.

You never thought this far ahead. You don’t know what to _do,_ now that you’re here.

You think you always just sort of expected…some kind of justice, after everything you’d done, but…

Undyne was the one in jail, not you. You’re free and you’re…

Floundering.

You still feel like justice is coming for you, it has to be, you were a Judge, you _know,_ but the other shoe just isn’t dropping and it’s driving you crazy.

Well…crazi _er_.

-

At least the sky is beautiful.

You probably don’t deserve to look at it, but you do anyway.

You _never_ thought you’d see this, not in a million years.

-

Pap waits a lot longer than you thought he would before he starts pushing you to get out of the house.

You do, mostly to humor him, because it’s not like you’d be any good at a day-job. Your short-term memory is shit and you’re not reliable to show up every day because you never really know when you’re going to have an episode or miss an alarm or just be too exhausted and broken to drag your coccyx out of bed in the morning.

You do a lot of aimless wandering around the city.

Humans have been kind about monsters, for sure, but you know damn well how scary you look. You try not to let it hurt your feelings too much when you see people turning around when they see you coming, averting their eyes from you with fear on their faces.

(It does hurt your feelings. It hurts your feelings _a lot_. You _never_ wanted to scare people and now it seems like it’s all you do.)

(The likely thought of never getting a laugh again sends a splinter through your soul, just one of the many ugly cracks littering it now.)

When you see the poster for the local animal shelter, asking for volunteers, you figure you don’t have much to lose there.

What are they gonna do, fire you? From working for _free_?

You meet with the lady who runs the place. You try to be upfront, let her know you’ve got some…issues, but you want to work; you want to _help,_ anything to get out of the house and stay occupied because Pap is right, staying in all day and obsessing over your sins is killing you, you really _do_ want to be busy, maybe for the first time in your life.

You luck out: the manager’s in a tight spot, her best worker is on vacation and she really does need an extra pair of hands around to help pick up the slack.

You get the ‘job’ and it’s…good.

 _Really_ good.

There’s nothing too hard or complicated for you to learn and the humans are a little edgy around you like they always are, but the animals…

They’re soft and small and they’re here because they need help, and even a big scary skeleton is fine by them as long as you can pass them a bowl of kibble or clean out a litterbox from time to time.

They don’t know what you’ve done and if they did, they wouldn’t care.

You want to have that for a little while, at least until your karma comes back to bite you.

Here feels like as good a place as any to wait for whatever justice is coming for a sinner like you.

-

You don’t expect the human.

Manager-lady introduces you, this is that ‘best worker’ she brought you in to cover for.

They’re a lot nicer than most about looking a little spooked when they see you for the first time. They cover it pretty quick to keep from hurting your feelings and are perfectly polite afterwards.

The fact that they’re aware you _have_ feelings to be hurt puts them a step above most of the other humans you’ve met up here.

Maybe that’s why you remember their face so quickly.

The name takes longer to stick, but you recognize them when you see them the next day and actually remember who they are, and that’s a pretty big deal for you.

They talk to you a lot and you don’t really get it, but it’s…nice.

You try to help them out with easy stuff, high shelves and heavy bags to let them know you appreciate the kindness.

Back in the glory days of your unbroken skull and your unbloodied hands, you’d tell them a joke and offer to take them to Grillby’s sometime for being a pal, but Grillby’s is gone and you have no business trying to make friends with a human after how many you’d killed.

You hope the little bit you _can_ do is enough.

Like when a scruffy dog in bad shape comes in one day and slips his leash and you see them about to just go right up to it, like that was a totally safe thing for a squishy little human to do.

You do it for them.

You get bit, but the only real casualty is your hoodie pocket and you can sew that up later, no harm, no foul.

The little guy’s still on edge and you’ve seen the human in the dog room, chatting up the pups and handling them all with care and affection.

If anybody can help your new buddy here chill out, you think it’s probably them.

They do, and when the vet comes to take him away, the human does the weirdest thing.

They ask you if _you’re_ okay. Like it matters, like it’s important, like they care…

And they’re not even afraid to touch you while they ask.

You don’t get it.

You _really_ don’t get it.

……But it’s nice.

-

They actually name the dog Buddy.

It’s hilarious and so are they the next time you have a run-in with them. You shortcut into the laundry room trying to find the apatite that fell out of your pocket and end up spooking them a little, but it doesn’t last.

They scowl at you and tell you that you oughta wear a bell and before you even realize you’re doing it, you’re shooting back with a pun, faster than you have in years.

They laugh.

It takes a second but they _laugh,_ at a joke _you_ told, and it’s a sound you thought you’d never hear again.

It’s beautiful. You want to make them laugh even more.

You get them giggling about the absurdity of your ketchup collection and your pocket-rock, and when you offhandedly mention your background in geology to explain the latter, they look impressed but don’t push very hard for details.

You don’t know why they ask you to lunch with them, but they call you ‘funny’ and offer to pay and well…

You don’t really know _how_ to say no to that.

They order for you and their guess is so spot-on it’s crazy. The food is great too, greasy and delicious like you haven’t had since the last time you went to Grillby’s before it shut down and you couldn’t bear to go anymore, the man himself looking smaller and thinner by the day like he could just disappear in a strong breeze.

They ask about you and you tell them, the good stuff at least, plus some of the not-so-horrible stuff—cards on the table, and all that.

They get you talking about Pap for awhile, too, and maybe you gush a little, but it’s been too long since you’ve had anybody to talk to about how cool your brother is.

“It seems like it runs in the family,” they say to you, and…

Oh, stars, your skull gets hot and you laugh a little, not knowing what else to do.

You try to turn the subject around to them, but they seem a little shy, too, like they feel their story isn’t important or exciting enough to share.

You kinda doubt that. You get the feeling there’s a pretty cool person sitting across from you and they just don’t believe it yet.

You break the tension with a pun and they pun right back and when they get the courage to ask for your number, hoping to have lunch together some other time, you give it to them.

It could be nice to have a friend again, even if just for a little while.

-

They start texting you in the middle of the night with some gold-tier jokes and memes.

At first, you’re a little concerned they might not sleep well or something—one of the upsides of your severe cranial damage is that you don’t dream anymore, no dreams, no nightmares—but apparently their sleep schedule is just a little wonky.

You’re fine with it, it gives you something else to focus on in those weird midnight hours when you’re usually just trapped alone with your thoughts and regrets.

You send them pictures of your rock collection and get to see their interest in your hobby start to flourish. They send you geology-specific memes now and pictures of cool rocks they think you’ll like, and it’s so cute and thoughtful that you almost can’t even handle it.

They’re a good friend and when you see the look on their face when they talk about Buddy, how they can’t adopt him, how he just has to go to somebody else’s home to be somebody else’s dog…

It doesn’t feel right.

You want to do something for them.

You drop a hint to Pap and even though you’re pretty sure he knows what you’re trying to get him to do, he does it anyway.

Buddy’s your dog now, yours and Pap’s and the human’s, and they can come over and see him whenever they want to, problem solved.

Papyrus tells you later that ‘Your Human’ was really nice and even wanted to be _his_ friend, too.

It makes you happy that they were kind to your brother.

And your cheekbones feel a little warm again at the phrase, ‘Your Human.’

You try not to think about it too hard.

-

Pap invites them over for dinner one night and they bring gifts.

Your bro gets the cutest little plant you’ve ever seen and you…

You get the funniest _rock_ you’ve ever seen, engraved with an ironic pun that probably wasn’t the manufacturer’s intention but is all the more hilarious for it.

It’s perfect, you love it, they’re the most thoughtful human you’ve ever met and when they start ignoring you in favor of the dog, you’re…

Maybe a little jealous.

When they offer to pet you, too, as a joke, you actually take them up on it.

Their fingers are warm where they touch the whole side of your skull, blunted nails scritching along the bone.

It’s…a lot nicer than you thought it’d be.

You make a dumb joke to change the subject and try to squeeze in another nap on the couch when they go off to help Pap with dinner. You’ve faceplanted into spaghetti before and it’s really not something you want to do tonight, with them here to see you do it.

You manage to avoid it and dinner is a perfectly pleasant affair, and when the topic somehow turns around to vacations, they get your bro to actually agree to a trip somewhere and that kind of craftiness is impressive.

They grab your hand after dinner, trying to convince you that the size difference between you is ridiculous and stars above, color you convinced.

They’re so _small_ and their little hands are so soft and cute in yours that you don’t even think to be bashful about the scratched-up state of your metacarpals.

They get all flustered and annoyed with the way you’re laughing at them, so you offer an apology hug and they take the bait.

They get even more cute and flustered when you put your chin on their head because you can and even though they’re a _little_ mad (heh), the night ends with laughter and smiles.

You can’t quite shake the way they’d felt in your arms, though, how nice it’d been to have their warm body tucked right up against your sternum and their arms trying in vain to wrap around your ribs.

Yet another thing to not think about.

-

You harass them a little bit trying to figure out where they want to take you and Pap on vacation.

You know you’re being annoying, but it’s playful and friendly and honestly, more fun than you’ve had in longer than you care to think about.

They’re a little exasperated with you, but you can tell by the way they smile and roll their eyes at your efforts that they’re not _really_ mad at you.

You’re…glad.

Lately, you feel…so much more _yourself,_ cracking jokes and playing pranks and just generally teasing the hell out of your human. You’re comfortable around them, in a way that you haven’t been comfortable with…

…

Jeez, have you _ever_ been this comfortable with somebody?

You don’t really know. You don’t think so…but you like it.

Pap seems pretty convinced they want to take you to the beach and your bro is a whiz at pattern-recognition, so if that’s the thing he’s put together from whatever itinerary they gave him, that’s probably what it is.

He picks up some matching shirts for you to wear on the trip, but late one night you go online and do a little shopping of your own.

You’ve been eyeing that heart-shaped rose quartz for your collection for awhile now, and if you just so happen to tack on a _pun_ derful shirt in your human’s size and click the one-day shipping…

Well, that’s just coincidence, ain’t it?

-

You take awhile dragging yourself out of bed the morning of.

At first, it’s just because you’re feeling a little slow, but when Pap starts laying on the horn, impatiently yelling threats at you, you decide to take a quick break on purpose.

Even from inside, you can hear that he’s yelling at you _in caps,_ and it’s been so long since you heard him talking in the right case that you…maybe milk it a little.

You just miss the much easier confidence Papyrus used to have before the whole Underground went to hell and before his closest friend tried to rearrange his face with her fists.

It’s nice to know that that part of him is still there, even if you have to get him pissed off beyond all reason to actually hear it.

By the time you know you’re _really_ toeing the line of tardiness levels at which Pap will be ready and willing to try kicking your ass, you kinda have to rush to get ready and almost forget to snag the dog, but you make it and it’s fine, no big deal.

You end up at the beach, just as predicted, and your human is a little disappointed that they hadn’t kept it as good of a secret as they’d thought, but they cheer right up when Pap passes them the shirt you bought.

You’re a little embarrassed by how earnestly they thank you for it, but they don’t press it and when you all go change into swimwear…

Wow.

 _Wow,_ they look nice in a bathing suit, real cute, and when you say something about it and make _them_ embarrassed for a change, they only look cuter.

You hang back with them while they put on their sun lotion, just…looking at them.

You never pictured yourself being friends with a human, not after…

Everything.

But _this_ human…you really think you’d like them to be the exception. They’re curious and respectful and just so… _genuine._

You’re happy around them, comfortable, even when they seem to take way too much pleasure in making your skull glow and you think this is a friendship you’d really like to keep.

-

You’re…maybe a little _too_ comfortable with them, though.

You pick them up once in the water, for a piggyback ride, and you don’t think anything of it at the time, but after you realize maybe that was crossing the line a little. You shouldn’t be doing that kind of thing, touching people, especially not without asking, and you really…feel the need to at least apologize for it.

They wave you off and apparently…you’ve been touching them a lot, _way_ more than you realized and that’s…

When they tell you it’s fine because you’re not scary, because they _trust_ you, it’s the worst kind of reality check you can imagine.

You’re a murderer. You’ve killed seven humans, _just_ like this one, and they have no idea. They think you’re _safe_ because they don’t _know_ you, not really.

And there’s you, lulling them into a false sense of security for what? Because you _like_ them? Because you feel like less of a monster, in the most awful sense of the word, when they smile at you and laugh at your jokes?

You’re the worst sort of liar and you can’t believe you were selfish enough to do this to somebody as nice as them.

Your fingers slip into your pocket on instinct, reaching for something that you…don’t find.

There’s no sharp edges to meet your hand, only smooth and polished stone and when you pull it out, you find the paperweight they gave you with the inspirational message etched into it.

‘NOTHING IS WRITTEN IN STONE’

It wasn’t what you wanted but your—…the human doesn’t know why, and what they say has you laughing and forgetting about your darker thoughts for awhile.

You appreciate it. Really, you do, but…

You have to talk to them.

You have to be honest, they deserve that much.

And then maybe, once you’ve said your piece, they’ll just…stop talking to you.

They’re a good person, probably too nice for their own good, you don’t _think_ they’ll spread your secrets and if they do, well…

You’ve been ducking justice long enough.

Might as well face the music now.

-

You tell them.

Everything.

Every awful, sickening detail you can think of, you spill it for them and when you’re done…

They _hug_ you.

Of all the _ridiculous_ things to do.

They make excuses for you, they tell you they think you did the right thing, and the more they talk, the more the things they’re saying almost sound…

Believable.

It’s the Kindness in them. It _has_ to be. No other kind of soul could make it seem like the things you’d done could’ve ever been okay, acceptable, ‘what you had to do to survive.’

If only you were still a Judge, you could see it for yourself and know the platitudes for what they are.

You’re so desperate that you actually try, calling on that half-forgotten power to try and prove what you know—that their soft green soul is just taking pity on you, telling you the words you want to hear more than anything in the world.

It’s like wading through concrete, like straining against a giant rubber band and you can’t hold it, it’s not your gift to use anymore, but for just one second…

For one tiny little moment, you See.

And the glimpse of color you See isn’t green at all.

It’s yellow—blazing bright and strong with _Justice._

Stars, you’d known…you’d known for so long that this was coming, no one escaped their justice, not forever, not even a fallen Judge…

But you never thought for a single second that when it finally came, it would _forgive you._

You cry.

You can’t help it, and when your human holds you, you hold them back.

They tell you they know you and everything they say…it sounds like _you,_ the you that you were before everything went wrong. They kiss you on the cheek and make a goofy joke and you…

 _Stars,_ this human is important to you.

You can’t believe you’re lucky enough to get to keep them.

-

You can’t believe you fell asleep on top of them, also. That’s another thing.

You tuck them in a little before you leave and then just sort of…sit around the house all day, processing.

They text to check on you and you really don’t know how you missed your guess on their soul trait.

They’re so… _kind_ …

But maybe they’re kind because they feel that’s the _right_ thing to do. It’s fair to treat people nicely, to do whatever they can for whoever needs it.

You remember, eventually, what they said about Buddy and why they couldn’t adopt him themselves: it wouldn’t be _fair_ to him.

They’ve said and done a lot of things like that, you guess, now that you’re thinking about it, and…

Maybe they’re not…entirely wrong. About you.

You end up thinking about _that_ for a long time.

Whatever they see when they look at you…it’s not unforgivable. They think you can do better.

And when you’re with them…you feel like it could even be true.

Eventually, you settle on a promise, one you make to yourself.

You want to _try._

The way they so gently said, “I really care about you,” before kissing you on the cheek is the most motivating thing you’ve felt in a long time.

And if you think about the kiss itself a little longer than is strictly ‘friendly,’ well, that’s something you’re perfectly happy to keep to yourself.

You don’t want to let yourself get _too_ greedy.

-

You start a journal. You clean your room. You try meditating.

That last one makes just makes you fall asleep but the other two things are good.

You need to figure out a new shorthand, and you have to watch yourself so you don’t slip back into Wingdings that you can’t decipher later, but writing stuff down is…a _lot_ more therapeutic than you thought it would be.

It’s like…a way to organize your jumbled thoughts, get things out and put them together in a way that makes sense.

It’s probably nothing at all like talking it out with some trained professional, but since that’s not an option, you think this way is working out pretty well. It’s not all just…festering in your soul like some acidic secret, you’re _dealing_ with it and it feels good.

So does a mattress with clean sheets on it, and a lamp that actually works, and a room that smells like air freshener instead of dirty laundry.

You consider apologizing to Pap for all the times you made fun of him for being a neat-freak but…

Nah.

The hardest thing to do is your rock collection.

You still have some…bad days…and when those happen…

………

You’re lazy, though, and you know it.

You probably won’t…hurt yourself as much if it’s not so easy.

You pack up about half of your collection, anything rough or jagged or sharp dumped into a shoebox and replaced with tumbled, polished counterparts that couldn’t make a dent in bone, no matter _how_ tightly you squeezed them.

You leave your human’s rock in your pocket. It’s already stopped you from punishing yourself once, so maybe…

It can be your good luck charm.

You try to keep it with you all the time, careful not to lose it through your weakened pocket.

It helps you. A lot.

-

You’re floored when they start confessing to you, saying things you’d been thinking, but hadn’t dared to give a voice to.

“I like you.”

“You make me laugh.”

“I feel comfortable with you.”

And when they say they don’t know what _you_ might see in _them,_ you’re indignant.

You _tell_ them what you see, what you like about them the most, and it’s only…slightly awkward trying to figure out how kissing works without lips.

You don’t think there’s an actual skeleton equivalent of the gesture. You haven’t known very many skeletons, you imagine there’s probably a whole rich tapestry of cultural context you’d grown up missing, but really…

You couldn’t care less.

Your human is in your lap and you’re laughing and nuzzling each other and it’s…

Stars, it’s the happiest you’ve been in a _long_ time.

Of course you’re going to date them.

-

It takes you a little bit to get into the right sort of groove for dating.

You let Pap and his dating manual psych you out a little too much at first, but your human winds you back down and you _knew_ they were the right person to do this with: after that first, mostly successful attempt, your dates just go better and better.

You’re spending time with them, not trying too hard, but that’s exactly what they seem to want from you and it’s perfect.

Even when an unexpected run-in with Burr crashes the tail-end of a date, hitting you with two bombshells at once—Grillby’s _alive_ and you’re actually _missed_ —they stand by you and support you and offer to be there with you to go and see everybody again.

They really _do_ care about you, and you…

You care about them, too.

A whole hell of a lot.

You hope they know that.

-

They take care of you through an episode.

They talk to you and bring you food and don’t seem to mind when you can’t really respond to them the way you want to and you can’t for the life of you figure out how they don’t see how special they are, how wonderful and amazing and so far from ‘just anybody.’

Your soul throbs when you look at them and you have no idea how you got lucky enough for them to like you the same way.

When you find out Napstablook is gonna be on TV and you had no idea, _you,_ the former Mister Phalange On The Pulse, knowing everything about everybody, that’s what seals the deal.

You _have_ to get back out there.

It’s time.

And you’ve got an incredible little human you’ve been _dying_ to show off.

-

Going back to Grillby’s is like going back in time.

There’s some old faces, some new ones, and even if you get a dressing down and your tab is revoked ( _that_ one hurt), it’s still one of the best nights you’ve had since the old days, but even _better._

You’ve got your human with you and everybody loves them, just like everybody loves your brother; a little overdue, but the sparkle in Pap’s eye-sockets when Dino asks him for an autograph is incredible.

That night is everything you could’ve asked for and you want to have a _lot_ more like it.

-

You only hit one real hurdle.

On your six-monthiversary, which Pap assures you is a very real and very serious thing, your human finds a little something you’d missed.

Its sharp, curved edges are…even now, when things are so _good,_ they’re a lot more tempting than you want to admit.

There your human is, offering it up to you, easy as can be. You know you could take it, squirrel it away somewhere, just to have it and maybe…the next time you have a bad day, or feel like you need it…

They would never know.

Your hands are already covered in scrapes and scratches, far too many for them to keep track of. One more would just be…

A _huge_ step backward.

You reach out, closing their hand around the obsidian. You can tell that they like it, that they think it looks cool, and that kind of simple, uncomplicated passion for a neat-looking rock is beautiful.

It’s too beautiful to ruin by falling back into old, shitty habits that never _really_ helped you anyway.

You give it to them for safekeeping. You know you’re making the right choice.

You go outside and look at the stars with your human, holding them close and telling them how happy you are, finally, after working so stupidly hard to get here.

They say they want to learn constellations with you, they want to do it as a couple, and they’re gonna make _flashcards_ and in that moment, you can’t deny the thought even one second longer.

This is _your_ human. They’ve helped you be so much _better_ and you want to _keep_ being better, by their side for as long as they’ll have you.

You’re in _love._

-

Your vision fades back in and you’re you again, Sans kneeling in front of you on the bed. Your souls fade out, too, going back where they belong but there’s still at least one heart-shape you can see, red and beautiful in the middle of Sans’ eye-socket.

When you speak, it feels like you haven’t done it in a long time. “What…what did you see?”

Sans smiles at you, soft and affectionate. “everything,” he says. “i love you.”

You think you know why he can say that to you so boldly, so _easily,_ without fear of rejection.

If he’s seen as much of you as you’ve seen of him…if he’s seen himself through your eyes, then he already _knows_ you feel the same.

You say it, anyway. “I love you, too.”

He reaches out to you, cupping your cheek in one hand. You nuzzle tenderly against his scars—scars you hadn’t recognized as scars before—and you look up at him with a cheeky little grin.

“You saw all my super-embarrassing stuff, I guess? And you love me anyway?”

“heheheh…you kiddin’? makes me love ya’ _more._ ”

“Ditto.” You snicker as one of his memories floats back to you. “ _Please_ tell me you have pictures somewhere of Papyrus’ goth thing.”

Sans laughs out loud. “oh man, _so_ many. a whole album, i’ll show ya’ sometime.”

“I’m gonna hold you to that!”

He leans in for a quick little nuzzle, something you’d call a peck if lips were involved.

“ya’ got any questions for me?” he wonders quietly. “anything ya’ want me to…?”

You think about it, but… “No. I’m good.” You think you’ve seen everything, everything important about your skeleton that you could ever really need to know. “How about you? Any questions? Concerns? Criticisms?”

Sans chuckles. “just one. why…why’d you want to get to know me so bad in the first place?”

Of all the questions for him to ask, that’s probably the one that makes the most sense.

Why _had_ you wanted to know him so much, way back when you’d first met? When he was just a vaguely scary-looking stranger you saw at work sometimes and nothing else? Before you’d had even the slightest idea that there was a sweet, funny, wonderful man lurking just beneath the surface?

“Honestly,” you say slowly, really thinking about it, “I was just…curious about you.”

Sans’ grin broadens, a teasing note entering his voice. “curiosity killed the cat, y’know.”

“Hmm. Really?” You give him a smirk. “Guess it’s a good thing I’m a dog-person, then.”

“heheheheheheheh…”

His eye-sockets are doing that feline, crinkly thing again that you love so much.

“But…” you add after a second, “I guess cats are pretty cute, too.”

You stretch a little, reaching up for a kiss.

Sans holds you close and in that moment, you know you were right.

Life _is_ good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: I'm definitely going to respond to comments soon, before I post the next chapter.
> 
> Also Me: *definitely does not do that*
> 
> Well, for everybody who ever asked for a Sans POV chapter...here it is! I told you it was coming! XD
> 
> Definitely the longest chapter of FGTC to date, but blame our boy for having a rich history and a lot of complicated emotions and growth. I couldn't cut him off anywhere, it would've felt rude! 
> 
> Thank you all so much for reading, I love writing this story so much and even though I haven't responded to comments lately, I'm still reading all of them and they touch my heart in every possible way, even ~~especially~~ the dirty ones. ;3


	15. Epilogue - Family

They say time flies when you’re having fun.

If that’s true, you must have been having a skele _ton_ of fun, because the next few years feel like they’ve breezed right on by.

You finally pulled the trigger and moved yourself in with the brothers after a lot of encouragement and not-so-subtle hints.

You were right, it didn’t really change anything, except that now when you come home after a long day, you have your dog right there waiting for you and roughly eighty percent of the time, a delicious home-cooked meal from Papyrus instead of something you have to toss in the microwave or eat right out of a bag.

When you find a particularly _rib_ -tickling meme in the middle of the night, you no longer have to text it to Sans to share it. All you have to do is give the big skeleton next to you in bed a little nudge, and you get to enjoy the wonderful sound of his sleepy chuckle in person instead of just an ‘lol’ on a screen.

It’s not a _big_ difference, but it feels like an important one.

Nothing much has changed at the shelter either, excepting maybe your promotion to assistant manager.

When your boss had first pulled you into her office and offered you the change in position, your instinct had been to turn it down. You were just a worker, after all, and ‘assistant manager,’ well, that sounded _important,_ not something _you_ could do…

Except you’d started working on that _a lot_ lately, recognizing your own self-deprecating thoughts as you were having them and shutting them down when you could.

Papyrus had been a huge help with that once he’d noticed it was something you struggled with, and he had actually let you in on some of the techniques _he_ used to power through similar feelings.

The most helpful had probably been when he told you to, “Imagine Those Thoughts Are Coming From Somebody You _Loathe_ With Every Fiber Of Your Being! That Way When They Tell You That You Can’t Do Something And You Do It Anyway Because You’re Super-Cool, It’s Like You’re Proving Them Wrong And Rubbing His Gross, Greasy Face In It, I’M AMAZING, JERRY, YOU DON’T KNOW WHAT YOU’RE TALKING ABOUT AND YOU CAN’T HOLD ME BACK!”

You’d only asked once who the hell ‘Jerry’ was, in the middle of a Grillby’s date.

Every single monster in the vicinity, even _Sans_ had just grimaced and looked away, pretending you hadn’t spoken and eagerly leaping onto a different subject.

You decided that maybe it was better you didn’t know.

In any case, with Papyrus’ advice in the back of your mind, you managed to accept your promotion with hesitant grace and to your pleasant surprise you were able to handle it just fine.

You already did so much at the shelter that the new job title barely added a handful of responsibilities that your workaholic self wasn’t already doing, and certainly nothing you weren’t capable of getting the hang of quickly. You make a little bit more money now and you have more control over your own hours than you ever did before, which is a _very_ nice perk!

Actually _taking_ time off for yourself…that’s admittedly still a work in progress, but you’re lucky: if there’s one thing your Sans is good at, it’s knowing when you need some self-care time and he’s always ready to ~~con~~ sweet-talk you into taking a break now and then.

You’re actually taking the day off right now, though not because of Sans.

Today is for Papyrus, because after years of study and hard work, your favorite skeleton has made it—finally about to become a _bone_ afide nursing school graduate!

…Pap refused to speak to you for a solid three hours after you made that joke.

 _Sans_ , on the other hand, looked at you like he might legitimately cry over it.

His emotions had been pretty high lately, actually, what with his little bro’s big accomplishment and it seems like all the pride and joy in his soul the past few weeks has left him just a _teensy_ bit of a walking disaster.

He can barely focus on anything else for the life of him, so this day off of yours was kind of a necessity. Sans is in absolutely no state to be remembering things like finding the camera, making sure it has memory, ordering the most gaudy and colorful bouquet you could possibly find, figuring out the itinerary…

You handle all of that for him so that all your scatterbrained bonefriend has had to do for the past two weeks was gush to literally anyone who stood still longer than a minute—friend, acquaintance, or complete stranger—about how his bro was graduating and isn’t he just the _coolest_?

With the way he’s been talking it up, you honestly wouldn’t be surprised if half the shelter staff showed up, plus the entirety of monsterkind.

You hope they all _do_ come: your Papy deserves as much recognition he can get!

-

Sans shortcuts you onto the neatly manicured lawn of Papyrus’ campus, not far from the auditorium where the little ceremony is going to be held.

He’s practically vibrating with excitement and it’s so different from his usual chill persona that it makes you laugh.

“Are you actually gonna be able to sit still the whole time?” you ask with a grin.

“what?” Sans barely glances at you, smoothing his clothes down a little. He processes your question belatedly and when he’s done buffering, he huffs. “oh. pfft. i’m fine.”

He’s back in that tie/sweater-vest combo he wore on your first date—the only ‘nice’ clothing he owns, you think—after Papyrus begged him to please, _please_ not embarrass him by wearing that ratty old hoodie of his.

You’re a little dressed up yourself and so is the dog between you, Buddy in a novelty bone-print bow-tie and a knock-off service animal vest that had been bought online at the last minute.

He hadn’t earned it with any kind of training. It was just a way to sneak him into the place and keep people from questioning his quadrupedal presence, thought up because if there was anybody who looked like they needed a support animal, it was Sans with the giant, debilitating-looking hole in his head.

You weren’t sure you were a hundred percent on board with the deception, but both of the brothers had outvoted you on this one: Buddy was family, too, and he should be there to see Pap graduate!

Sans had (mostly) eased your concerns by pointing out how well-behaved and unlikely to cause a scene your son was, and also by promising that you could leave to escort him out if there was any kind of trouble.

Buddy is so calm right now that you're actually starting to think there _won’t_ be any trouble.

It’s only Sans you’re still worried about.

“ _Are_ you fine?” you have to wonder teasingly. “You know Pap’s not the _only_ one graduating, right? We’re gonna have to sit through speeches and other graduates, real boring stuff.”

Sans rolls his eye-light at you. “duh. why do ya’ think i skipped my own graduation? ya’ think i’m gonna waste my whole day at a snoozefest? keep _dreamin’._ ”

Your laugh turns to a soft, affectionate smile as he duly continues, “but this one’s for pap. i don’t mind doin’ it for him.”

What a sweetheart…

You pass him the camera, knowing he’s going to want to be the one to record everything, and with your lightened burden of only flowers and a dog leash, you start walking.

“C’mon,” you say, “we better get in before all the good seats are taken. Unless you want to try taking video from the nosebleeds?”

Sans looks mortally offended by the very notion and follows right after you with an indignant little, “how dare you,” that gets you snickering all over again.

In spite of your warnings about boredom, you’re pretty excited for this, too.

You get to be present for a huge moment in the life of somebody really important to you, with just about everybody else who’s important to you by your side.

It’s a momentous occasion and you can’t wait to see it.

-

Turns out getting in early was a good idea—the auditorium is quickly packed with people, mostly humans come to see loved ones graduate, but also monsters, and _lots_ of them.

You remember learning from Sans that monsters are made of love and compassion and you see it now in spades as all the familiar faces pour in and take seats toward the back or choose to stand, perfectly willing to give priority to people who had actual family in the ceremony but still wanting to be here to show support for one of their own.

You wave hello to everyone you know from your seat and beside you, Sans just _beams._

Another thing you were right about was the boring speeches.

There’s two separate addresses once everything gets underway, with the usual types of academic buzzwords liberally tossed about: hard work, dedication, responsibility, ambition…

Sans dozes off halfway through the first one and you just barely manage to snag the camera back from him before it falls out of his lax grip.

You decide to let him sleep, though, knowing it’s not going to get more interesting for awhile yet and what Papyrus doesn’t know won’t earn Sans a lecture.

For his sake, you hope his quiet snoring is too soft to be picked up by the recording. If it isn’t…

Well, that’ll at least be funny to find out when you play the video back later!

It’s not until they finally get to the heart of things, calling up the graduates for their photo-op walk across the stage, that you give Sans a gentle elbow to the ribs.

He snorts awake and gives an appropriately sheepish look to your teasingly raised eyebrow, but he also leans over to nuzzle your cheek as he takes back the camera with a grateful little, “thanks,” that melts your heart.

You spot Papyrus well before it’s his turn, standing off to the side in the line-up. He’s simply too tall and noticeably nonhuman to be missed, especially among his slightly younger and much smaller peers.

He’d done such a good job of being all cool and unaffected in the days leading up to this…but not anymore.

Even from here you can see Pap struggling not to cry a bit at the sight of just how _many_ of your friends had come out to see him today.

Sans’ eye-sockets are starting to look suspiciously wet, too, and if it weren’t for that ‘Don’t Embarrass Me’ promise he’d made, you have a feeling he’d be on his feet bragging to everyone around you about how that’s his brother! Get a load of that skeleton! Ain’t he the coolest?

When it’s Papyrus’ turn to cross the stage and accept his window-dressing diploma, Sans is back to nearly vibrating and you clap as hard as you can on his behalf.

He surprises you, though—holding the camera steady in one hand, he puts the phalanges of the other between his teeth and defies every rule of acoustics and logic itself with a loud, impossible whistle that pierces the auditorium even through all the applause.

You smile when Pap’s skull swivels right over to where the two of you are sitting and he scowls at you in that unique, ‘I Cannot Believe You Right Now’ way of his.

But then he looks…surprised.

And then happy?

Happi _er_ , anyway.

You wonder why the change of heart, but they’re already calling the next name and he’s walking back off stage to let all the other grads have their turn in the spotlight, too.

Sans pauses filming and turns to you, grinning so wide you’re surprised his mandible is still attached.

“you know what this means, right?” he asks in an eager whisper.

No, but you think you can guess.

Still, you want to hear the punch-line, so you ask, “What?”

“Pap’s a nurse now—he gets to call the _shots._ ”

“Pfft! Do _not_ say that to him today!”

“why not?” Sans scoffs, feigning realization. “oh, you’re right, no job yet. he wouldn’t have the _patients_ for my jokes.”

You press your hand over your mouth, trying to stifle your giggles.

“Shhhhhut up…!” you hiss.

He sighs. “guess ya’ don’t wanna hear the one about surgeries, huh? ah, _suture_ self.”

Damn him.

 _Damn_ him, you are _trying_ to be courteous to everyone still trying to pay attention to the ceremony, but judging by the amount of whispering and secretive glances in your direction you must not be doing a good job.

……Or so you think, until Sans goes very, _very_ still beside you.

“Babe? …Are you okay?”

He doesn’t answer you, which is concerning.

Concerning enough that you frown and follow his gaze, just behind you to the very back of the auditorium where…

Oh.

Oh _stars._

There’s another familiar face in the room today, but this one you’d only ever seen in pictures, maybe once in some distant footage aired in the news, right when monsters had surfaced.

You understand that surprised look on Papyrus’ face now, and the wide-eyed stares and whispers from the people sitting around you.

Even shadowed and silent, flanked by armed guards, Queen Undyne cuts an incredibly imposing figure in person.

 _Former_ queen, you suppose, but her very bearing could only be described as regal…or maybe military. She’d captained the Royal Guard once and you can see that now in her posture, parade rest if not for her hands cuffed in front of her instead of behind.

Her expression is stony and utterly unreadable to you, but there’s only one reason she could possibly be here, _today_ , and he’s probably ecstatic backstage right now waiting to come greet his oldest friend.

And his brother is here next to you, hands starting to tremble as he stares blankly at the woman who broke his head and Papyrus’ teeth all in the same day.

“Oh, stars, Sans, are you…? Do…do you—”

You cut yourself off as Sans suddenly moves, taking the dog leash out of your hand. Buddy, lying obliviously at your feet, perks up a little in curiosity.

“gonna…take buddy out for awhile,” he says quietly. “back later.”

And with that, the seat beside you is empty, just you and the vibrant bouquet of flowers in your lap.

…Oh, boy.

-

The ceremony can’t end _quickly_ enough.

It’s a struggle to remain politely seated through the rest of the proceedings and when it all wraps up and people start to get up and mill about, you can’t help but feel a little lost.

You can’t see the ex-queen anymore in the crowd, but you also can’t see Sans or Papyrus and you’re not sure which of them needs you more right now.

It’s a tough choice, but in the end you settle on Papyrus—as much as you love Sans, it’s _Pap’s_ day and he needs to get these flowers and a ‘congratulations’ straight from your lips.

Plus it’s not like Sans is alone right now. He took your ‘service dog’ with him and Buddy is probably getting some on-the-job training about emotional support right about now.

They’ll be fine.

It takes some searching, but you do eventually find Papyrus…and you’re not the only one because Undyne is there, too, listening patiently to whatever Pap is talking about with such broad and animated gestures.

You stand there for a long, indecisive moment.

Should you…just go over there and…interrupt? Wait until they’re finished?

…At least one very cowardly part of you thinks Sans had the right idea just peacing out like he did.

Even this close, Undyne is beyond intimidating, as massive as Papyrus with none of the gentle friendliness to soften it and not even the orange prison jumpsuit she’s wearing can cover all of her sharpest features—spines, scales, _teeth,_ all razor-sharp and terrifying.

(You wonder if the officers escorting her here today would stand any kind of chance if she decided to escape custody, even _with_ their side-arms.)

Ultimately, the choice of what to do is taken out of your hands.

Papyrus spots you and calls your name, eagerly waving you over, and well…

Here goes nothing.

You walk over with your best winning smile, presenting your bouquet to the new grad.

“Happy graduation, Pap!” you say brightly, _feeling_ one yellow eye burning through you. “We’re so proud!”

Papyrus takes the flowers with a crinkle of the plastic around them, looking like he’s ready to start sparkling any moment now. “Thank You! Wowie, I’ve Never Seen Glitter On Roses Before!”

“Sans’ idea,” you admit.

“Oh!” Papyrus frowns, seeming to notice his brother’s absence. “Oh, Is He…Did He…?”

Need to go get some air because Undyne was here and he hasn’t forgiven her, but he also wanted to let Papyrus have a moment with his friend on his big day?

Probably.

But what you say is, “He went to take Buddy outside. He said he’d be back, though!”

You trust the sharp and clever Papyrus to be able to read through the lines, and by the relieved and undeniably fond smile on his face you’re pretty sure he understood.

The amused-sounding snort from Undyne suggests he’s not the only one.

Papyrus perks up at the sound, suddenly tugging you closer. “Stars, I Almost Forgot! Human, This Is My Friend, Undyne! Undyne, This Is Sans’ Human, I’ve Told You About Them Before!”

You crane your neck, meeting the fish-monster’s piercing gaze for the first time. She certainly doesn’t look very impressed with you, making no move to offer you a hand to shake or even speak.

Considering her history with humans…you’re not surprised.

Still, Pap is watching you expectantly, so you smile and introduce yourself, saying, “It’s nice to meet you!”

_Is it, though…?_

Maybe. Maybe not.

You know this person by reputation only, and the brothers’ opinions on her are from two opposite ends of a spectrum. You don’t know her for yourself and all you have to judge her on is her actions.

You know what she did to Sans and Papyrus. You don’t like that at _all._

But the sight of her standing here in flimsy handcuffs that she could probably break just by flexing a little too hard…it reminds you that she chose to wear them so that Sans wouldn’t have to.

And the fact that she’s _here_ is a whole other layer. How hard must it have been to finagle something like this? You can’t imagine how frustrating and redundant the maze of human politics and legal proceedings must’ve been, even for someone with literally _royal_ clout, trying to arrange leave from prison to be here today, _just_ to be able to see Papyrus graduate.

Undyne did it anyway.

She must really care about Papyrus and as someone with that same level of investment…

Well, that _has_ to earn her back a _few_ brownie points with you.

You can at least be polite.

“So… _you’re_ the punk Papyrus won’t shut up about, huh?” Undyne sneers down at you.

…You can _try_ to be polite.

“Yeah, I suppose that’s me!” you say easily, sparing a glance up at the skeleton in question. “Unless Pap’s been talking up some _other_ humans I don’t know about, I guess.”

Papyrus gasps as if greatly offended. “I Would _Never_!” he exclaims. “You’re The Best Human!”

You laugh. “‘The best’? Really? I’m the best one?”

“Of Course You Are!” Papyrus says, as if it ought to be obvious. He bends down a little to more easily hug you, explaining, “You’re _Our_ Human. That Makes You The Best!”

Oh…oh, jeez, _Papyrus_ …!

You hug him back.

“Is that true?” You turn to find Undyne watching the two of you, her eye narrowed. “They’re your human, too, Papyrus?”

Papyrus doesn’t hesitate to answer with a firm ‘yes.’

Undyne huffs, making a face.

“Man,” she grumbles, before turning to you with a stern expression. “Hey, human—you _know_ you have to be good to these skeletons, don’t you?”

Your eyebrows shoot up. “Uh… I—”

“‘Cause they’re real important!”

“…Well…yeah, they—”

“It looks like you’re doing _okay_ so far,” she says, which sounds almost like a concession, “even…even…but! You better keep it up, alright?! Queen’s orders!”

“You’re Not The Queen Anymore, Undyne,” Papyrus tries to cut in, but she just glares at him.

“Cherish these skeletons, human!” she demands of you, making it sound like a proclamation. “Cherish them!”

“……”

You…

You kinda want to laugh.

Undyne is definitely intense…but she’s hardly the cold and solemn monarch the human media’s made her out to be. Having her here in front of you, trying to intimidate you into taking care of Sans and Papyrus…

You think maybe you understand why she and Pap used to be friends.

 _Are_ friends, that’s…that’s pretty clear.

When you smile at her instead of cowering, she scowls, which really just makes you grin wider.

“I don’t think that’s gonna be a problem,” you assure her. “These guys are…they’re basically my family at this point.”

You give Papyrus a little side-squeeze and feel your expression softening at just the _thought_ of Sans, still off somewhere settling his nonexistent nerves.

“Don’t worry,” you say, as firmly certain as your entire soul is on the sentiment. “I’m gonna cherish the _hell_ out of these skeletons, no matter what!”

The way Undyne is looking at you now…you’d almost call it impressed.

You could probably stop there and call this a confrontation well-handled, but…

You’re not sure you’ll ever have an opportunity to talk to her again.

You might as well say everything you need to say right now.

“And hey…when Pap comes to visit you, actually _see_ him. I don’t like hearing about the times he wasted a trip, okay?”

In your peripheral vision, you see Papyrus’ cheekbones going blue and he whines your name a little plaintively, but you hold eye-contact with Undyne.

It feels like the right thing to do.

Undyne seems surprised.

And then slowly…she starts to laugh.

“Fuhuhuhuhuhu! Okay…okay, yeah!” She grins at Papyrus, a shark-smile if you’ve ever seen one. “I guess you were right, Papyrus. They’re not a _total_ wimp…for a _human_!”

You wonder if that’s her way of saying you’ve earned some brownie points with her, too.

One of the humans standing quietly beside Undyne suddenly speaks up. “Ms. Undyne? It’s time.”

She sighs, rolling her visible eye. “Yeah, yeah. Whatever…”

“It Was Good To See You Again, Undyne,” Papyrus chimes in. His smile is wide and after all these years, finally free of the corrective braces.

It brings a very nostalgic look to the former queen’s face.

“You, too, Papyrus. Congrats on doing something cool with your life. Come…come see me again soon, okay?”

“Of Course!”

“And human…” She smirks at you. “Just keep cherishing…or else!”

You give her a cheeky thumbs up and a wink that makes you feel an awful lot like you’re channeling Sans for a second. “You got it!”

That gets you a nod of approval, and in short order, Undyne is led away.

“……I Think She Likes You!” Papyrus decides after a long moment.

You snort. “Is _that_ what that was?”

Whatever Pap says in response, you don’t hear it.

With Undyne’s departure, it’s apparently the perfect time for Papyrus to get swarmed by a whole gaggle of excited and curious people.

Some are monsters, wanting to offering congratulations and ask after the old queen, but a lot are human—fellow graduates from Pap’s class, you realize—impressed that Papyrus was apparently important enough that Undyne herself came to their graduation.

In all the bustle, you end up…kinda trapped, squished up against Papyrus’ legs.

Until he effortlessly scoops you up and sets you down just outside the circle of admirers with a patronizing little pat on the head.

“My Adoring Public Needs Me,” he proclaims grandly, to several fond laughs around him. “You Go Find Sans, I’ll Catch Up With You Later. We Still Have Those Dinner Reservations, I Haven’t Forgotten!”

 _You_ almost did, but you accept your mission with a playful salute, already looking forward to the fancy new Italian place you were going out to celebrate at later tonight.

Provided, of course, you can actually _find_ your boyfriend somewhere around here.

Papyrus’ voice stops you again before you get too far, though.

“Oh, And Another Thing I Haven’t Forgotten! I Was _Promised_ A Very Specific Graduation Present!” Oh…that was news to you. “When You Find Him, Tell Him To Quit Being A Snail And Make It Happen, Already!”

You chuckle but say, “Sure thing, Pap!” on your way out.

You hope Sans jotted himself a reminder for this mystery present somewhere or you weren’t gonna be much help to him.

You’ll just have to ask him yourself and you don’t think he’ll be very difficult to find.

After all, he wouldn’t go _too_ far on Pap’s big day, and by now the sun’s been down for awhile.

You can’t think of anywhere else Sans would rather be right now, when he wanted to clear his head, than out under the stars.

-

You don’t miss your guess.

Of course you don’t: after the years you’ve been with him, you _know_ your funnybones.

Sans is sitting there outside in the grass, stroking Buddy’s head in his lap and staring straight up at the night sky.

He looks alright, which makes the ugly knot of compartmentalized concern unravel in your chest. You’re glad tonight’s surprise guest hadn’t shaken him up _too_ badly and you approach him with a smile.

“Hey there, sugar-skull.”

Sans looks up at you and your heart skips a beat. You don’t think you’ll ever get tired of seeing the love in that big, red eye-light of his when he looks at you, or the way it makes you feel warm inside like nothing else ever has.

“Mind if I join you?”

“thought you’d never _grass_ k.”

That startles a laugh out of you.

“Is that a new one?” you wonder, getting down to join him. “I don’t think I’ve heard it before.”

Sans shrugs, but you see him smiling. He _loves_ being able to pull a new pun on you. It’s happening less and less these days, the more you’re together and the more jokes you hear from him, but you never fail to laugh at even the old ones you’ve heard a dozen times before.

Funny’s funny, a joke’s a joke, and from probably your favorite person in the world, the humor never feels stale.

“undyne give ya’ a hard time?”

You shrug right back. “Nothing I couldn’t handle. …Pap thinks she likes me.”

Sans huffs, but he slings his arm around you, pulling you right up against his ribs.

“‘course she does.” His skull settles on top of your head. “you’re the best.”

Sweethearts. You’re _surrounded_ by sweethearts.

You don’t think you’d trade a single one of them for the world.

You spend awhile out there, just cuddling out under the stars.

You point out a constellation or two that you can see, even with the urban light pollution. Sans manages to find his favorite, Scorpius, and you spot…one of? the dippers, and it’s not until you’re arguing about how he can possibly tell, without a telescope, how _that_ particular speck of light could be Cassiopeia A that you remember.

“Oh, wait, shit, I was supposed to remind you!”

“hey, you don’t gotta make up excuses, babe. you can just admit you’re wrong, y’know i ain’t gonna make fun of you for that.”

You smack him lightly on the sternum and he snickers at your ineffective bat. “ _No,_ seriously. Papyrus wanted me to tell you something.”

“sure, i completely believe you. what’s the message from ‘Papyrus’?”

You shoot him the fiercest side-eye you can manage. “Pap says he hasn’t forgotten about his graduation present and for you to stop being a snail.”

Whatever response you were expecting, the way Sans stiffens against your side _really_ isn’t it.

“……shit. right. yeah. that.”

“Did _you_ forget?” you wonder, trying to hide your amusement.

“mmm, little bit.”

“I mean…you can teleport. If you need to go get it…”

Sans fidgets a little. “nah, it’s not…i already _have_ the……have for awhile, i just haven’t…gotten around to………”

You make a noise of surprise when Sans stands up, pulling you with him. He looks _awfully_ nervous all of a sudden, even more nervous than when _Undyne_ had shown up.

“Oh jeez, _Sans_ ,” you murmur gently. “Relax, I’m sure Pap’ll love it!”

It doesn’t stop the sweat from beading along his skull. “that, uh…that’s the thing, it…it’s not…… _for_ Pap, actually. it’s……it’s for you.”

You frown, confused. “Pap’s present…is a present for me?”

“eheheheheh…nah, the…it’s for you, Pap’s part of it is……uh. i ‘stop bein’ a bitch about it.’ direct quote.”

_Snrk… Oh, Papyrus…_

“Okay. Weird, but okay. So…what is it?”

“………um. so.” Sans looks like if he had a lip, he’d be biting it right about now. “i…found a really cool rock…that i wanted to give ya’…”

Oh!

Sans had _great_ taste in rocks, you couldn’t wait to see it.

“‘cept i…wasn’t really sure when the right…time…was…?” He chuckles a little, his eye-light darting everywhere but you. “human……customs, or, whatever. but…but Pap says i already been draggin’ my feet too long, so, uhh…”

Sans reaches into the pocket of his nice slacks and presents you with…

Oh, a crystal!

And by far, the most _beautiful_ one you’ve ever seen: it’s a gorgeous cyan blue and _glowing,_ actually radiating light in the darkness.

The urge to reach out and touch it is powerful and you just stare at it for a moment completely awed.

But then Sans starts talking.

“i…i got it from, uh…from waterfall. the ceiling. took a little doing, but it…it seemed right. we…monsters, we used to wish on these, y’know? did…did i tell you that?”

“Not in so many words,” you say, but you don’t need words for memories conveyed directly through the soul.

You have a clear picture in your mind of the place he’s talking about, and what it meant to monsters when they were trapped.

“well…we wished on ‘em…like how humans do with stars, for stuff we wanted…things……things we never thought we’d get to have…ever.” Sans goes a little glowy in the cheekbones himself. “stuff that was too important to give up on, no matter…how impossible it was.”

He’s still not looking at you and you have no idea where he’s going with this, but when there’s a long pause, you prompt him to continue.

“Sans…?”

He shakes his skull, like he’s trying to clear an etch-a-sketch, and seems to start again.

“i saw a documentary about…one of the animals ya’ got up here. the little…” He struggles with the name and tries, “tuxedo birds,” and you nod encouragingly that you understand.

Though you can’t for the life of you figure out why he wants to talk about _penguins_ right now.

“it, uh…it said they…when they really want to…be with somebody, what they do is…they, they find a rock and give it to ‘em and that’s how they find their mates.” Sans laughs a little, still with that persistent edge of nervousness. “i dunno, i thought it was pretty cute. monsters don’t…we don’t have nothin’ like that, but i guess…i guess humans do?”

Sans freezes suddenly, like something’s just occurred to him.

“shit,” he mutters. “i’m supposed to be on one knee for this, right? does it matter which knee, or…?”

………

_Holy **shit**._

“Sans, are you…are you proposing…?”

He winces at the question, a rueful expression on his skull.

“jeez……guess i’m doin’ a pretty shit job of it if ya’ gotta ask.”

If your heart skipped a beat before, you actually think it _stops_ this time, just for a second.

Sans _is_ proposing.

He wants to _marry_ you.

He wants you to be a part of his life, always.

“Yes.”

Sans blinks at you, looking startled.

You’re not sure if he actually processed the thing you said or what it meant, so you say it again, as emphatically as you can.

“ _Yes_ , Sans, I want to marry you!”

He stares at you just a little bit longer…but you know your answer got through this time.

That traitorous eye-light of his can’t lie, and it’s heart-shaped and _adorable._

“heheheheheh…hahahahahaha!”

You laugh, too, as you’re suddenly scooped up off the ground, literally swept right off your feet into his arms as Sans holds you up against him, fervently nuzzling at your face.

You nuzzle back, grinning so widely it actually hurts and pressing smooches against him everywhere you can reach.

Below you, Buddy has taken to darting around and barking, excited by the sudden movements his people are making. You know he has no idea what’s going on, but _you’re_ excited, so??? He’s excited too??? Yes?!?!

Stars, you love your stupid dog-son.

You love your goofy skeleton fiancé.

You see several sudden camera flashes and hear a triumphant, “NYEH-HEH-HEH, _FINALLY_! YES!” off from the side, and you love your meddling, soon-to-be brother-in-law, too!

It might not be the biggest family, but it’s _yours_ and honestly…?

Your life feels as full as it’s ever been.

You gasp as something utterly delightful occurs to you and you brace your hands against Sans’ shoulders, pulling away just enough to look him in the eye-socket.

“Sans,” you say urgently, “ _Sans_!”

“what?” he asks, frowning a little at your tone. His eye-light pops back to its normal round shape, but if you have your way, that won’t last long.

“Do you _know_ what this means?”

Sans can see you starting to grin, the kind of grin that goes hand-in-hand with his most favorite thing in the world, and his concern falls away.

He spares an insufferably smug smirk over at his poor, unsuspecting brother before turning back to you, as eager as you’ve ever seen him.

“what, baby? what does it mean?”

“When we get married… do you _know_ what that’s gonna make you?”

Sans _knows_ it’s going to be good. He’s practically vibrating again as he asks, “what’s it make me?”

“Sans……you’re gonna be my hus _bone._ ”

Papyrus _shrieks_ in dismay, even as Sans’ eye-light blips right back into a heart-shape and he _completely_ loses his mind, hugging you even tighter against him and laughing until delighted tears streak down his skull.

“HUMAN! Stop Ruining This Beautiful Moment For Me!” Papyrus demands, his hands on his hips.

“keep…keep _enhancing_ this beautiful moment for me,” Sans wheezes, nuzzling at your cheek.

Buddy just keeps scurrying around Sans’ feet, jumping up and trying to be part of the action, too.

Pap corrals him for you and comes on in to join your little hug-fest with a hilariously irritated look on his face, saying that you two had _better not_ start this up again at your celebratory graduation-slash-engagement dinner or he'll be _very_ displeased, disowning you both!

This…

This is a _very_ good family to be a part of.

You couldn’t be happier.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my god, it's the end, we're finally here! :D
> 
> You guys...this was my first Undertale fic ever and all the comments, kudos, and general love I've gotten over it have been _incredible._ I love you guys so freaking much and thank you for sticking with me on this philosophical journey of, "What if Horrortale was the softest, fluffiest thing you can imagine?"
> 
> If you're sad about this particular fic being over...don't be! I've already got at least six one-shots planned out set in this same 'verse that I'm eager to get started on, and I'll probably just turn those into an open-ended dumping ground for any odds and ends I want to tack onto this continuity whenever I'm inspired to. So in a sense...this fic will never be over!
> 
> But this one particular piece of it is, so to everyone who's read it all the way to the end, _thank you so much_ and I hope you had fun with it! I know I sure did!  <3

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Smile for the Camera, Smile for Me](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17815502) by [Goosy Writes (Goosygander)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Goosygander/pseuds/Goosy%20Writes)




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